Addy
by Merry Poppins
Summary: The unorthodox FBI psychiatrist, Dr. Marcy Bailey, gets Zack Addy out of the institution. When Marcy finds herself the victim of an anti-semite extremist, Zack wrestles with his own emotions & the courage to save her. NO SLASH. Triangle -  Zack/OC/Vincent
1. Prologue: Another Psychologist

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in a few years. I used to write a whole mess of fanfiction (all Lord of the Rings) in 2002-2004. I'm starting back up again sort of as a way to practice my writing skills and partially because I still think it can be fun in moderation.

I will also attempt to illustrate this story and I'll post links to my drawings on once they're up!

Be sure to review! That encourages me to keep writing. I promise this story will be full of twists, turns, and that heart-stealing squint, Zack Addy!

**Addy**

by Merry Poppins

**Prologue – Another Psychologist**

"Dr. Marceline Bailey."

"Wait, Marceline?" Agent Seeley Booth chewed on the name as if it were old oatmeal. "She sounds like an 80-year old woman who cuts out pictures of kittens from home magazines."

Dr. Temperance Brennan, in her usual way, corrected her partner, "Uh, Parker could live to be 80 years old. Does that mean his given name makes him sound like he's senile?"

"Okay, okay", Dr. Lance Sweets waved his hands, exasperated. "Come on, guys, I am way too swamped with the cases to give Zack the proper attention he needs. Dr. Brennan, I know you have an emotional attachment to Zack-"

"—That is incorrect", Brennan cut in. "I have successfully severed all my emotional ties to him ever since… his crime."

Of course Sweets did not buy this, but he continued. "I happen to trust Dr. Bailey's intuition and intellect. She's a colleague of mine, albeit a year my junior, but extraordinarily bright. She'll take good care of Zack, you have my word. Why would I stake my reputation on Dr. Bailey if I didn't have full confidence in her?"

"Because you still won't loose your job even if she fails", Brennan said. "And intuition and intellect are opposing attributes since 'intuition' relies on immeasurable or unobservable feelings in the abdomen and intellect relies on facts complied in the brain."

Booth touched Brennan's shoulder gently. Like Sweets, he also sensed Brennan's defensiveness towards Zack regardless of her apparent emotional severance. "Alright, Bones", he said taking the role of middleman. "Let's just talk to her and feel her out. Can we do that, Sweets? You gotta understand how important it is that Zack's therapy, you know… not be screwed up by some kid."

"I understand", Sweets said. "I actually told her to come by today just so you, Dr. Brennan, could get acquainted with her. She'll be here in about 15 minutes."

Brennan steeled her jaw and moved her cold blue eyes between the men. In the end she knew it was not her decision, but the FBI's. She still could not help feeling an enormous sense of responsibility for Zack's wellbeing. Sweets suddenly bringing in this new and unproven psychologist—more psychologists!—seemed a bit spontaneous. Zack needed consistency, someone he could trust. He was only barely starting to trust Sweets and now he would have to start all over again.

Brennan sighed, "Let me know when she's here. It doesn't really make a difference whether I approve or not anyway."

She stalked off towards the lab, stomping her heels purposefully. Sweets flitted a look at Booth and the Special Agent merely shrugged. It was always difficult to talk to Brennan about Zack. Whether she could admit it or not she still saw herself as Zack's mentor.

THE LAB:

Hodgins leaned over his microscope and delicately pushed a plate of spider eggs under the lens. Without looking up, he asked the general populace, "Anyone know what's up with Brennan this time?"

A few minutes earlier, Hodgins attempted to show Brennan his results with certain paint chips he found on a victim's tooth, but simply she brushed past him and disappeared into her office.

Angela furrowed her brow in the direction of her best friend, "I'm not sure. She just got out of a session with Sweets. Maybe he tried to convince her that she's in love with Booth again."

"Well, she is", Hodgins chuckled.

"Yeah, but it pisses her off whenever she's cornered like that", Angela smirked. She tilted her head as she caught a better glimpse of Brennan. "No. This is something different, I know that look."

Angela began to move towards Brennan's office, but Cam stopped her.

"Not now", Cam said calmly. "It's about Zack. Sweets wants to hire a new psychologist to help with Zack's therapy since Sweets has no time. Brennan is just nervous about this newbie."

Angela moved her jaw to the side sympathetically. "Hmm… She's still so sensitive about poor Zack."

"Z-Man was barely getting used to Sweets, and he's changing it up on him?" Hodgins joined in. "Who is it?"

"Dr. Marceline Bailey", Cam said. "And if the FBI decides to use her, it's important that we show her the same respect we show Sweets."

"We show Sweets respect?" Hodgins quipped.

"Remember, Zack is in her hands", Cam eyed her employees significantly. "We want to make sure she'll be welcomed so she can do her work to the best of her abilities."

Hodgins and Angela silently conceded. The former moved back to his station to examine the microscope again, "I still think she sounds like my 74-year old grandmother who used to pinch her pool guy's ass and then forget about it."

"Hullo!"

The Jeffersonian team whirled. A young woman in a long, navy blue coat stood in the doorway, black binder in hand and pen in ear. The first thing they noticed were her round glasses—the kind worn prior to the 1950s. She stood about an inch shorter than Cam and was just as slim, or rather, would have been just as slim if she were not engulfed by her enormous coat. Dark brown locks of hair tumbled down past her shoulder blades. Despite the distracting glasses, behind them was a rather pretty face with bright brown eyes and dark, quizzical eyebrows. Her lips were on the thin side, but they had a cheerful shape and curled up on the sides to form an almost permanent smile. She was all together lovely to look at, though somewhat unorthodox—certainly not a suit-wearing Sweets.

Cam stepped forward. "May I help you?" she asked already knowing the answer.

"My name is Marceline Bailey. I am the new psychologist Sweets has referred. He told me that I could find Dr. Brennan's office in the lab?"

Her voice was deeper than they expected, but still unmistakably young. Hodgins whispered to Angela, "Back to my grandma comment, I think I would've been glad to be her pool guy in this case."

"Welcome to the Jeffersonian, Dr. Bailey", Cam said cordially. "Dr. Brennan is right this way."

SWEET'S OFFICE:

Lance Sweets paced his office, slightly perspiring, with Brennan's respect for him on the line. He silently prayed that his old pal, Marceline, to be exactly the same psychology student he remembered—even better! After wringing his fingers for the 11th time, Brennan swung open the door and let Marceline in. Sweets' eyes popped open in anticipation like a dad waiting to see if his daughter made the softball team. Brennan merely nodded and left. Marceline had her approval! Of course it did not matter from a professional perspective, but as a psychologist, Sweets knew Brennan would want to feel a part of Zack's therapy and made every effort to respect Brennan's attachment to Zack.

He grinned and shook Marceline's hand heartily. "You charmed her, Marcy! That takes something special."

"I was so nervous, I almost forgot how to spell my own name", Marceline breathed. "I just want to do the best I can. I can tell how much Dr. Addy means to her."

"That's why I called you", Sweets said. "Shall we meet Zack now?"

"I would love to!" Marcy smiled. "Is there anything else I should know about him other than what you told me?"

Sweets hesitated. He had told her everything that he had gathered in his research—some family history, the Asperger's, work ethic, his ties to Gormagon. But he had not told her the truth about how Zack had not murdered the lobbyist due to patient confidentiality. Still feeling tied to his promise, he decided to keep this from Marcy as well and allow Zack to tell her when. It would indicate genuine trust.

"Nope!" Sweets said. "You know everything I know."

THE ASYLUM:

Sweets lead the way as they marched down the hall towards the meeting room. Marcy was issued her own badge and card key.

Her heart was practically beating out of her chest over the thrill of her first major assignment—and with the FBI, for that matter! She had never seen Zachary Addy before, only read a few articles and the reports Sweets drew up.

"Here we are", Sweets said has the rounded the corner. He slid his card key and opened the door.

The first thing Marcy saw was a tuff of floppy brown hair followed by arched eyebrows over a pair of heavily-lashed brown eyes.

"Hey Zack!" Sweets greeted him casually. "I want to introduce you to a colleague of mine, Dr. Marceline Bailey."

Zack Addy pursed his lips, sensing a change. "It's nice to meet you, Dr. Bailey, although I cannot say that for a fact. I just say it as a colloquial salutation."

Marcy glanced knowingly at Sweets and stepped straight up to Zack, staring him square in the face. "Well, if you're not certain, then I can be certain for the both of us: It's very nice to finally meet you too, Dr. Addy."

A/N: Whoo! That's somewhat of a long prologue. Please review! I know it's annoying to ask, but it really does encourage the writers to keep going. I have a lot of fun plot twists planned for this story. Stay tuned, folks!


	2. The First Interview

_A/N: Marcy's first one-on-one with Zack! As they feel each other out, Marcy discovers the kind of therapy Zack really needs._

_Thanks for the reviews, folks! I see that some of you have favourited or put my story on your alert list, which is nice and I appreciate it, but I'd really like to hear what you think. Keep letting me know that you're out there reading!_

**Chapter 1 – The First Interview**

THE INSTITUION:

For the first three sessions, Sweets lead the discussions while Marcy watched, took notes of her own, and contributed when she felt necessary. The relationship between Sweets and Zack was a curious thing—Zack was compliant to the therapy, but it was still primarily simply because he had to. He was straightforward and direct, as she expected he would be.

Marcy was careful to observe Zack's body language, which was difficult because he almost had none. She wished she could have known him before his stay at the institution to be able to compare. Zack sat patiently in his chair with his arms on the table and tragically gloved hands lain out. He stuck his head out beyond his shoulders a bit. _Someone who leads with his brain_, Marcy thought to herself. His eyebrows were an active part of his facial expressions, tilting up and down, or furrowing slightly. His eyes tended to remain glossed—not in a mentally disturbed sense, but rather because he did not have or was loosing motivation.

Sweets was always a top-notch psychologist, Marcy knew this, especially considering he was hired with the FBI at such a young age. Yet he was also strictly by-the-book, which hindered him from stretching outside the realm of what he had been taught and reaching these difficult sort of patients. Yet he seemed to genuinely care about Zack, which was probably why Zack was able to endure these sessions at all.

Finally, it was time for Marcy to conduct the sessions sans Sweets. The first time Marcy stepped into the visiting room by herself, Zack immediately looked uneasy.

"Where is Dr. Sweets?" he asked.

She was afraid of that question. "It's just me today", she said pushing her round glasses up her nose.

"I can see that."

There was a brief silence as Marcy walked over with her bag and set it down next to her chair. Zack watched her.

"Dr. Sweets", he began. "Isn't going to be conducting the sessions anymore, is he?"

Marcy shook her head.

"I see", Zack flitted his eyes to the side for a moment and then faced Marcy. He was not sure if a female psychologist—an attractive female psychologist—was the wisest choice for him considering the distraction she might prove to be.

"So… what happened to your hands?" Marcy asked suddenly. Her method of psychology might be unorthodox and spontaneous, but she always had a motive.

"I think Dr. Sweets told you, Miss Bailey", he said slowly. Marcy recognised the refusal to call her a doctor, a habit he picked up from Brennan.

"I'd like you to tell me, Dr. Addy", she insisted, making sure to include his title.

"Why? The facts will not change whether you hear it from me or from Dr. Sweets", he said, lowering his eyebrows.

"Just tell me, Dr. Addy", Marcy said with a bit of spice in her voice. Zack responded—slightly, but he responded. She saw it in the way he pursed his lips.

"They were burnt when I mixed the tricyclic acetone perox—"

"—You mean they were burnt when you tried to save Dr. Hodgins?"

"Well, that was not my initial motive."

"But it was your _stronger_ motive."

Zack paused for a moment. He saw her point, but had a terrible time admitting that even to himself. As far as he was concerned, he deserved his fate at the institution and had little to no delusions of getting out. He had been wrestling with himself over how he could have possibly allowed that man, the Master, to fool his logic. His IQ of 163 had failed him in the worst possible way that year and would not risk it failing him in that way again. Staying under the care of the institution was the only sure way to keep that from happening. In his mind, the psychologists were on the verge of wasting their time, but he complied to please his friends.

Marcy eyed him. "Dr. Addy, why were you sent home from Iraq early?"

"Failure to assimilate", he said, setting his lower jaw. Marcy noticed his lower lip protruded out a little more than his upper lip.

"What does that mean, you suppose?"

"Exactly what it says. I don't understand the point of this question."

"Put it in your own words."

"Why? It was very clearly stated."

"Dr. Addy, help me out here…"

"Help you with what?"

Marcy forgot that sarcasm and metaphors would potentially fly over his head due to the Asperger's syndrome. She tried again.

"Dr. Addy, just explain what that statement means to you. 'Failure to assimilate', what does that indicate about yourself?"

The light seemed to come on in Zack's brain by the way he titled his head up ever so minutely. The words came slowly, but matter-of-factly. "Though this is mere conjecture, I suppose it meant that I was unable to form meaningful communication with the other soldiers. If anything, it indicates even more that my IQ is more rare than even I knew at the time."

"Who do you find you communicate with easily?"

"Hodgins. Dr. Brennan. Sometimes Cam", he said without much thought. "Angela is harder for me to understand as is Agent Booth."

"Ah. The team at the Jeffersonian", Marcy nodded. Much of his identity, as weak as it was, was formed with his Jeffersonian co-workers.

"They are the only people that make any logical sense to me", Zack said, unprompted but still matter-of-factly. "They were quite elated to see me when I escaped from the institution to help them with a case."

"You escaped from the institution?" Marcy already knew this, but she had him talking and that was what she wanted.

"Yes. It was insultingly simple, but I needed to help them. They weren't able to see what I saw and it was imperative that I gave my findings to them." The side of his mouth drew up into a pseudo-smirk, the first Marcy had seen from him. It was a lovely smile and she found herself admiring it for a moment before the light went on in _her_ brain.

"Thank you so much for sharing with me, Dr. Addy", she said gathering her things. "I think it's our lunch break, I'll be back in an hour."

With that, she raced out of the room and down the hall leaving a confused Zack Addy to stare at the door and gently say, "Goodbye."

THE LAB:

"She wears Harry Potter glasses and _still_ looks hot!" Hodgins laughed while swabbing a charred handbag for particulates.

Dr. Vincent Nigel-Murrey stood close by examining X-rays. "Did you know that J.K. Rowling used her initials in order to hide her gender because publishers felt that little boys might not read a book written by a woman?"

"I'd read any book written by a woman who's richer than the Queen of England", Hodgins said.

"Hullo, fellas", Marcy popped her head into Hodgins' office so suddenly, that he almost dropped the handbag as he and Nigel-Murrey leapt to their feet. "Didn't mean to startle you, but I have a huge favour to ask."

"Well, uh… sure!" Hodgins said with a glance at Nigel-Murrey. "What can we do for you, Dr. Bailey?"

Marcy bit her lip and approached Hodgins. "Well, throughout my sessions with Zack, I've noticed very little facial expressions or body language from him."

"Well, neither did we", Hodgins said humourously.

"No, no, I mean it seems to be extremely watered down. It's almost as if he has absolutely no motivation at all. And how can he? He's got an IQ of 163 that's just festering, unused in his head. His genius has always been something that's hindered him from assimilating with others outside that realm, but now its almost haunting him. It's becoming an unnecessary weight."

"Wow! You got all this from four sessions?" Hodgins asked. Nigel-Murrey simply continued to grin at Marcy, which she failed to notice.

"Hodgins", she looked him hard in the eye. "He cannot 'get well', whatever that looks like, in that institution."

Hodgins breathed deeply; he knew where this was going. The mousy Nigel-Murrey suddenly felt guilty for hearing this conversation.

"We can't do much about that", Hodgins said more seriously.

"… Then you agree?" Marcy's eyes lit up.

"What? No! I mean… Yes. Yes, I agree. That institution is eating him from the inside out. He's probably lost 25 pounds in the last few years."

"I did not know that", Marcy said gently.

"But, Dr. Bailey", he continued. "We're not in the position to make that call. Believe me, if I could, I just might. But I know I'd be doing it for the wrong reasons. He was my best friend, but Dr. Bailey… I mean, he killed someone. Murdered a man in cold blood. I was fooled…"

Marcy nodded and adverted her eyes away from Hodgins for a moment and landed on Nigel-Murrey. The Brit was watching her intently and upon catching her gaze, he snapped out of it and ducked down to look at his X-rays.

"Dr. Hodgins", Marcy began. "You want the best for Zack, I know you do. What if the best thing is putting him in an environment where he's the most assimilated and can keep that 163-IQ motor running? I honestly think that staying in the institution will do more damage than reconstruction."

Hodgins sighed uncomfortably. "Eh, you could be right, but how can we provide him with that environment? Move the lab into the visiting room at the institution?"

Marcy's eyes sparkled once more at this opening door. "Almost. Allow me to bring him X-rays and reports. Let him study them in the institution."

"We've done that before."

"Once", Marcy shot back. "That was just one last shot for him. If we give him that information on a regular, consistent basis, it could stimulate his intellect again, restoring what little identity he had before. It will be easier for me to work with him if the biggest part of his identity is fully functioning."

"Geez, you psychologists talk about people as if they were cars."

"And you don't?" Marcy indicated the tubes and pewter dishes around the room. Nigel-Murrey snickered and was silenced by a look from Hodgins.

"Well… what about the 'environment of assimilation' part? How can we do that?" Hodgins asked. In a way, he was begging her to prove him wrong.

"Give me five weeks of regular, ongoing case studies delivered to Zack. If by the end of those five weeks both Dr. Sweets and I notice a significant positive change in his psyche… maybe he could be allowed back to the Jeffersonian—"

"Oooooh no, no, no—"

"—Under supervision! MY supervision. I'll be with him at all times, I volunteer myself!"

"That's not my call!" Hodgins threw up his hands.

"Please, Dr. Hodgins, please!" Marcy begged like a 16-year old pining for a red Ford Mustang. "He needs you. He needs everyone here. He loves you, he just doesn't know how to say it. Don't you understand? He was picked apart by Gormogon because he had a weak personality."

"Yeah! I know that! And it was while he was working here. With us. The people he loves", Hodgins almost spat.

"But if we can only get him to that place where he's comfortable and intellectually stimulated again, we can try to build his personality. I cannot make him value or develop his personality if his genius is rotting in his skull!"

"Did you know that Psychology has discovered over forty cognitive, thinking errors that humans are susceptible to?" Nigel-Murrey grew so nervous at their argument that the fact simply fell out of his mouth.

Marcy beamed at him grateful for the support even if was not necessarily relevant to the issue at hand. Nigel-Murrey hesitantly smiled back at her.

"Look", Hodgins said, exasperated. "This is honestly not my call. You'll have to take this hair-brained idea to the big guys, because I simply cannot make that decision."

"Well, I can." It was Cam. They were not sure how long she had been standing in the doorway, arms folded and a severe expression in her face.

THE INSTITUTION:

Zack finished his macaroni and cheese and spent a few minutes waiting for Miss Bailey to return. He was not sure whether he liked her, but he hardly felt that that his opinion even mattered in a case like this.

He thought her pretty, which was distracting at times. In order to maintain a distance in that sense, he would focus his eye on her round glasses instead of her lively eyes. The questions she asked did not seem to follow any predictable pattern like Sweets' did and that lack of logical order irked Zack somewhat. Yet, her voice was so warm, he almost felt an urgency to answer her so she could speak again.

And then he caught sight of her positively sprinting down the hallway, arms full of papers, X-rays, and folders. Zack frowned in his usual way and stood as she burst into the room, breathless. He tried not to smile lest she see how he was taken aback at how radiant she appeared with her flushed cheeks and wild hair.

"Zack! Zack— oh, I mean, Dr. Addy!" Marcy fumbled with the papers and spilt them onto the table. Zack stared down at them, recognizing them all at once.

"These are case reports", he said and glanced up at her questioningly.

"Yes", Marcy caught her breath. "Yes, they are. Dr. Addy, they want you to continue helping them in their investigations."

"From the institution? They've done this once before…"

"It's not just a one-time thing", Marcy shook her head. "It's permanent. They need you back on these cases. Even while you're here."

She did not bother to tell him that he might be let back into the Jeffersonian (under supervision). She could not dangle that carrot in front of his face in case he did not show a significant improvement. Marcy fished into her bag, drawing out the confirmation letter signed by Cam and held it out to Zack.

"You see?" she said beaming. "It's official!"

Zack took the letter in his gloved hands and sat down in amazement. His face seemed to want to explode into a smile, a grin, a laugh, but he held back. Could it be that they still trusted him? Even though they believe he murdered a man? Even after he added the tricyclic acetone peroxide to that molten thermal plastic and lied about the canines? Even after his logic had failed him?

He looked up at Marcy and allowed his lips to spread into an impossible smile. He mentally noted how the topographical regions of his face were not suited to the size of the smile he desired to display.

He held out his hand to Marcy to shake.

Marcy gingerly took his injured hand in hers, shaking it slowly. "They still need you, Dr. Addy."

"Thank you, Dr. Bailey", Zack said, the steely gloss over his eyes beginning to fade.

_A/N: Lots of talking in this chapter, I know. I'm setting this all up so we can get the action rolling in later chapters. Please review! Thank you!_


	3. Bayoneting the Ice

_A/N: Thank you, thank you for the reviews and the favs so far. Here's the next chapter._

_There's a song that goes along well with this chapter (in my opinion). Go to grooveshark(.com), search for me (merrypoppins), and click on the playlist called "Addy". The song for Chapter 3 is called "In Motion"._

**Chapter 3: Bayoneting the Ice**

It became happy routine.

Every morning at 6am, Marcy Bailey, donning her round glasses, would trot into the Jeffersonian, grab the folder marked for "Dr. Addy", and bring it to the Institute with her. At the start of their sessions, she was only assigned to Zack once a week (Thursdays). Yet since this new development required more time, she saw the psychologically confused forensic anthropologist three to four days a week, each time bringing any new information on the latest Jeffersonian case. Zack was given a voice recorder so he could speak his analysis aloud. Marcy would then collect Zack's data and drop it off back at the Jeffersonian, becoming the official middlewoman of the Jeffersonian team and Zack Addy. Marcy's usual patients had to be stuffed into the two or three remaining days of the week.

The Jeffersonian team was more than happy to accommodate. It was a way of vicariously having Zack back in the lab with them. Hodgins filled out his reports for Zack with extra zeal, often signing them off as "King of the Lab" instead of his name. He or Angela would slip Marcy boxes of macaroni and cheese, seemingly impossible math problems on post-it notes, or books on applied engineering for her to deliver to their friend. Marcy had no problem with this—she knew their affection would have a positive affect on Zack.

Usually, the intern for that day would accompany Marcy in order to update Dr. Addy on the case report and explain things that may have been too difficult to catalogue. The merry psychologist grew fond of her walks with the different interns and grew fascinated by the plethora of personalities.

Daisy Wick proved to be a talkative companion—without much restraint or ingenuity. After overcoming the initial shock of Daisy's electric persona, Marcy grew rather fond and amused by her ramblings. Even if she never got a word in edgewise.

Colin Fisher lumbered slower than Marcy's liking, but provided a challenge for her incurable optimism. Every time he would ask her out and every time she would say no, although it was almost a game trying to come up with some new excuse each time.

Clark Edison walked silently most of the time, which only tickled Marcy's curiosity. Any morsel of personal information she could gently prod out of him, she gobbled up like Christmas candy. His professionalism made himself Zack's favourite.

Arastoo Vaziri was one of her particular favourites. He spoke gently, listened, and seemed to respect her professional field more than other others. He also provided spiritual insight, which not many of the other squinterns possessed.

Wendell Bray, like a white knight, always insisting on carrying the bulk of the luggage and talked merrily all the way to their destination. He was quick to smile and put young Marcy at ease.

Then there was the Brit. The first two or three times he walked with Marcy, Vincent Nigel-Murray did not seem to know what to say. For the first time in a long time, he was unable to find the words. They exchanged a few insights about London, which Marcy was familiar with, but nothing of any importance.

If Zack was warming up to Marcy, he did not give any indication yet. There were not many opportunities to do so anyway. Once she arrived, he buried his nose, ears, eyes, and burnt phalanges into his work. His hands had actually healed remarkably well—he had almost full range of motion with them, though the skin was broken up into pink blotches and his knuckles looked aged and ashy.

This particular morning, Marcy was running late. Twelve cabs had past her by until she could finally snag one and then Zack's folder was not ready on time.

Vincent Nigel-Murray bustled beside her as they whisked down the hall, arms full of X-rays and files.

"I was thinking about what you said about the London fire brigade, Dr. Bailey", Nigel-Murray said between footsteps.

"Yes?" Marcy said distractedly, her messy brown locks bouncing as she walked.

"Well, the Great Fire of London in 1666", he began. "It all started at a baker's shoppe, by the name of Thomas Faynor. Now he claimed he had put the fire out, but what do you know? Three hours later his house was an inferno. Poof! Down Pudding Lane and onto the rest of the city. Cost £10 million to rebuild the place."

"Well I'm not naming any of my sons Thomas then or they might turn out to cost me £10 million in damages", Marcy said, smiling to the side of her mouth at Nigel-Murray.

He grinned back at her, thinking it lovely that she always accepted his factoid instead of shutting him down.

They reached the visiting room at the Institute where Zack was already waiting. He nearly leapt out his seat and sailed over to Marcy and Nigel-Murray.

"Where were you?" Zack took the case reports from Marcy's thin hands and turned away, already burying his head in the text. "This case has been particularly time-sensitive. If we don't figure out what happened to the victim soon, we could loose vital evidence."

Marcy's eyes widened behind her glasses, her dark eyebrows stretching over the rims. He sounded like an impatient father. She glanced at Nigel-Murray, who seemed to have tucked his tail between his legs.

"Well, I'm terribly sorry, Dr. Addy", Marcy said, trying to keep an edge from her voice. "I had some trouble this morning retrieving your folder. It won't happen again."

"I sincerely hope that it doesn't", he said flatly over his shoulder.

Marcy's cheeks suddenly flushed with blood and heat. How could he treat her like this after all she's done for him?

"Anything for me, Dr. Nigel-Murray?" Zack said without looking up.

"Um, no. There haven't been many complicated developments since last we met", Nigel-Murray said meekly and turned his attention to Marcy. "Dr. Bailey. Might I ask you a personal question?"

Zack, his back to the others and pretending to go over the case files, listened intently.

"Why yes, Dr. Nigel-Murray", Marcy said stepping toward him.

"Vincent", Nigel-Murray corrected her. He spoke haltingly, eyes flitting skyward every so often. "I was wondering if you'd… ah… If you might consider the possibility of perhaps accompanying me on lunch break… if you so desire?"

A thin smile crept over Marcy's face as Nigel-Murray struggled through the sentence. "Of course I would!" she said. "I take mine at two."

"As do I!" Nigel-Murray grinned. His nose scrunched up delightfully when he did so. "Well… I'd better be off to the lab. See you then."

"Yes, sir!" Marcy said.

"Cheers!" Nigel-Murray cast a final smile at her, almost tripping on his way out (Zack smirked), and rushed back to the Jeffersonian.

There was a long pause. Marcy staring ahead, knowing she was still furious with Zack, and the latter bent over his case reports.

Finally, Marcy spoke, "Dr. Addy—"

"The fractures on the victim's fourth and fifth right rib and the grazing on the inside of the spine have no signs of reconstruction."

Marcy bit her lip and tried again. "Dr. Ad—"

"Fracturing in the left wrist suggests he broke his fall with his left hand and possibly elbow, but since the victim was 89 years old, it is hard to determine…"

"Dr.—"

"There is evidence of a wound to the right tibia and fibula. That particular injury was obtained over 60 years ago. Possibly a result of his service in the Second World War."

"ZACK."

Zack froze. "Yes?"

Marcy stared at him incredulously. "You were very rude to me earlier when Vincent was here."

"You mean Dr. Nigel-Murray?" Zack almost sounded correcting, as if he did not like her using his first name.

"Yes." Marcy said. "You held me responsible for something that was out of my control. Even if it were under my control, there is no excuse for acting like a spoiled prince."

Zack shifted his eyes to the side, having trouble digesting the metaphor.

Marcy continued, "I understand that you feel you have something to prove to the Jeffersonian team, but do not allow that to become your obsession to the point that your forsake human understanding and tact. Besides… you don't have anything to prove to the Jeffersonian team. They already love you."

She set another box of macaroni and cheese on the table with a green box wrapped around it from Angela. Zack stared down at it for a moment and then looked up at Marcy.

"I suppose the usual protocol is to extent an apology", he said carefully. "Though from my understanding, one usually has to agree with that apology before extending it."

"You could apologise for unconsciously making me _feel_ embarrassed, belittled, underappreciated…" She stopped as she noticed a change in Zack's face. Something clicked.

"Dr. Bailey, I apologise for making you feel unappreciated", he said. "I am aware now that I took advantage of the services you rendered me that no one else has been able to do. Please accept my apology."

Marcy was flabbergasted. How could this deep, emotional insight suddenly manifest out of nowhere?

Then Zack picked up the box of macaroni and cheese and offered it to her, his head bowed.

"What are you doing?" Marcy asked slowly, raising an eyebrow.

"In certain societies, it's customary to give an offering to petition forgiveness", he said. "Usually something one finds important or valuable. Since my career at the Jeffersonian its attributed to your efforts, you are, by technicality, the closest being to a deity that I have."

_I take it back. That's definitely still Zack in there_, Marcy thought as she gently pushed the macaroni and cheese away. "I'm not a goddess, Zack. I'm a person. I'm not going to smite you with my powers."

"Interesting how the word 'smite' is used to both indicate violence and the effects of love", Zack said as he set the box back on the table.

"Z-MAN!" It was Hodgins; he stuck his curly head in the door and burst in, arms wide open. Zack rushed over to his friend, shaking his hand.

"It is good to see you, Hodgins", Zack said, his red lips spreading into another impossible smile and his usually dull eyes suddenly starting to glimmer.

"Dr. Bailey", Hodgins approached Marcy. "With your permission, I'd like to perform an experiment with Zack here in the visiting room."

"Would this experiment cause any damages to the room?" Marcy asked cautiously.

"No! No, not at all, Dr. Bailey", Hodgins said with a charming smile.

Marcy noted the sudden rush of life on Zack's pale face. "Then… I don't see why not."

"Great! You can watch, get in on a little squint action, Miss Psychologist", Hodgins winked and the called out down the hall. "Okay, Protz, you can bring them in!"

A man, probably in his early 30s, pushed a cart with old Word War II weapons laid out carefully into the visiting room. He was possibly over six feet tall, well built with blonde hair and crystal blue eyes. He flashed a pearly white smile at Marcy, who blushed against her will.

"Hi", his voice seemed to come from the depths of his soul. "I'm Carl Protz, head of the Modern European department, specialising in World War I and II. I caught wind that you're the little psychologist who's taking care of Zack, here."

"Dr. Addy", Marcy hastened to correct him. "And I'm not exactly 'taking care' of him, I'm simply conducting his psychiatric therapy. Dr. Addy is quite capable of taking care of himself."

Zack's brown eyes glanced up at Marcy's as he set up a test dummy. He wished he knew what facial expression registered appreciation.

"Of course", Protz said, somewhat surprised.

"Right!" Hodgins said, rubbing his hands together. "We've got him set up. Mr. Protz, would you introduce us to these gorgeous things?" Hodgins swept his hand over the array of 60-year old rifles.

"Well, these are all the rifles used by the American military during World War II", Protz said, picking one of the up. "You've got your standard M1 Garand, Carbine, my personal favourite the M1903 Springfield, M1917 Enfield, M1941 Johnson, and the classic M1918 Browning Automatic rifle. Take your pick."

"Oh, baby", Hodgins said stroking the Garand. "These remind me of my Call of Duty days."

"They're over?" Protz shone his white grin again.

"They should be", Hodgins quipped good-naturedly.

"Wait", Marcy said. "I thought you said the man was _not_ shot."

Zack was holding the barrel of each gun to his face. When he got to the Johnson rifle, he asked, "Can this one also be fitted with a bayonet?"

"Yes", Protz said producing a wooden box. "We do not have this particular rifle's bayonet, but we have one of the same model." He opened the and took out a lethal-looking spiked bayonet.

"Oh!" Hodgins awed. "That could definitely kill a guy without having to fire a single shot."

According to Zack's theory, the victim could have been stabbed under the right lung and then picked up by the bayonet and tossed onto the floor. He and Hodgins set up four dummies to demonstrate the path of the bayonet.

Hodgins was first to try. He gripped the M1941 Johnson eagerly, his eyes twinkling at Zack. "Go!"

Hodgins launched at the dummy, stabbing it in the designated spot and lifting it off its stand before slamming onto the floor with a _THUD_.

"Yeah!" Hodgins hollered. "Take that, Nazi bastard!"

"The victim wasn't part of the Nazi Party", Zack said, kneeling beside the dummy to examine the wounds.

"Maybe", Hodgins said. "Still felt good to say that though while wielding a good ol' American WWII rifle, ha ha!"

"Still rather violent, don't you think?" Protz arched an eyebrow.

Hodgins ignored him. "What are the measurements, buddy?"

"Very similar and consistent with those on our victim", Zack said, brushing his floppy brown hair from his eyes. "I can conclusively say that the victim's wounds were caused by this weapon or something very similar. But it is unlikely it could be anything else since we knew the victim had an M1941 Johnson in his possession according to his relatives."

"Where is the rifle now?" Marcy asked.

"It was missing from the scene", Hodgins said. "But I found metal shavings consistent with metals forged prior to the 1960s. Considering the victim's past and his relatives' accounts, it all seemed to fit together."

"So what do we do with the rest of the dummies?" Zack asked mournfully.

"Could we shoot them?" Marcy asked quaintly. Hodgins beamed at her and Zack's eyes sparkled. Then they looked at Protz for an affirmative.

Protz sighed, rubbing a hand through his plentiful blonde hair, "Go ahead. It couldn't hurt."

"Yeehaw!" Hodgins yelped, grabbing the M1 Garand. "If you were my babysitter as a kid, I would _so_ be overindulged, but I'd love you for it."

"Dr. Bailey has always been particularly kind to me. Especially when I do not do anything to warrant it", Zack said matter-of-factly, rubbing down the Enfield with a cloth.

Marcy knew in his own way he had paid her a compliment and squeezed his shoulder as she reached for the Springfield. It was the first time since shaking hands Marcy had ever touched Zack Addy and the contact sent his nerves flying. Almost as if an electric shock shot across his shoulders and bogged his throat for a moment. He blinked to collect himself and stood in a line between his best friend and new friend, Marcy, all donning protective eyewear.

"Ready…?" Protz called.

"Aim…" Hodgins said, smirking.

"FIRE!" Marcy shouted jovially.

Zack, Hodgins, and Marcy opened fire on the three remaining dummies, smiling maniacally. Even Zack laughed as he looked over at Marcy. The force of impact blew her dark hair back, revealing a long slender neck. He furrowed his brow as he noticed bruise marks consistent with a large hand on her throat.

"Zack! You're shooting my Nazi!" Hodgins shouted. Zack turned his focus back to the dummy.

When they were through, the room was almost covered in debris from the dummies as were the four humans. Bits of plastic, leather, and cotton were littered throughout Marcy and Zack's messy hair, stuck in Hodgin's beard, and caking Protz's expensive suit.

"Right", Marcy said merrily. "I'm going to lunch. You three can clean up."

"But it was your idea!" Hodgins protested, spitting out a shred of leather.

"And you can thank me for it by cleaning up", she grinned at them. "I've got a date!"

"Wait!" Zack said.

"Zack, you shouldn't have to clean—"

He reached out and brushed a piece of cotton from her nose with his burnt, but gentle forefinger. "It might be considered unsightly to your date if you had cotton on your face. Though I personally do not think it makes much of a difference since I already know what you look like and it is not unsightly at all."

Marcy forgot that her mouth was still open and quickly shut it when she realized she was gawking. "Thank you, Zack."

"That wasn't a compliment. That was a fact."

She peaked up at him over her round glasses. Zack stood over half a foot over her. "I'll be back", she said and whisked out the door.

Zack watched her leave and then turned to Hodgins and Protz.

"Dude…" Hodgins said with a smile creeping over his face.

_A/N: Sorry this chapter was so looooooooong… I'll try to get the plot moving faster. I see people favouriting the story, which is nice, but **PLEASE REVIEW!** We work hard on these stories and it's rewarding to hear your SPECIFIC comments. Thanks!_


	4. Breakthrough

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews for Chapter 3! Y'all are awesome. A reminder, **please** **if you Favourite my story, ****REVIEW IT AS WELL**. Like I said, we authors are working hard in our spare time to write these stories and it's rewarding to hear feedback. Thank you to all of you who did review. It's very much appreciated._

_**Another note: Upon reviewing Seasons 1 & 2, it seems that the writers of "Bones" were inconsistent with the way they wrote Zack (ex: apparently he can't relate to pop culture illusions, but he'll use them like when he tells Dr. Goodman, 'Be kind, rewind', etc.) Also Zack is much more expressive and animated in Season 1, which I'm sure is just the Eric Millegan feeling out his character, but I'm going to use it to my story's advantage._

**Chapter 4: Breakthrough**

INSTITUTION:

As the cases rolled in, Zack's confidence in his logic and rationality started to mend. He grew much more precise with his work and less hesitant, much like the Zack a few years prior. Marcy saw to it that Hodgins, Angela, Cam, Brennan, and Booth at least paid him regular monthly or weekly visits. Sweets would watch over certain sessions, in which Marcy would stick closer to a by-the-book approach.

As she saw Zack's faith in his intellect and mind restore itself, Marcy wondered how she would now help him reconstruct his personality, convictions, and social confidence. She knew a little of his background—a large, middle-American family with four sisters and three brothers (Zack was fifth born out of the eight children), religious upbringing, difficulties assimilating with his peers, child prodigy, never held a long-term relationship. He was a middle child who was lost in his own IQ, unsure of how to communicate with his classmates and not taken seriously by adults—it was common for child prodigies to experience such isolation. As a result, Zack had grown into his adulthood without having developed social self-confidence. He was more secure in his intellect (which he still scrutinised) than himself as a person.

Zack worked feverishly at his designated tasks, still feeling the urge to prove something— to himself and to his friends at the Jeffersonian. He decided to not mention the bruise marks on Marcy's throat unless the opportunity presented itself. Still, the young scientist would glance at her neck any chance he got to judge the size of the hand if he could. It was definitely a male's.

One Thursday evening, Zack and Marcy were looking over the X-rays of a particularly difficult murder victim. Having spent the last four months alongside Zack, Marcy was starting to be able to dissect X-rays. Her abilities were not within a thousand-mile radius of the Jeffersonian team's, but they were much better than what little she knew before.

Zack frowned over an X-ray of the rib cage. "You see here", he said, circling a wide area around the ribs with his scarred finger. "All these puncture wounds are generally the same width and angle with almost the exact same point. Yet they're scattered about at random over the victim's body."

"Was he stabbed multiple times?" Marcy said, her tea fogging up those round glasses of hers.

"That would be the logical conclusion except for the fact that no one could possibly stab multiple times at the precise same angle each time."

"… A machine, perhaps?" Marcy watched Zack's face struggle with the pain of confusion. This was not a common occurrence for him.

"No", he said sighing. "The wounds are too random for a machine. Plus Hodgins did not find any metallic remnants in the wounds."

"Did he fall on… wooden spikes?"

Zack's face flushed red with frustration. "Hodgins didn't find ANY foreign remnants in the victim's wounds. No wood, no metals, no paint, no chemicals, nothing. That's what has everyone trunked!"

Marcy bit her lip to keep from giggling—she knew he meant "stumped", but now was not the time for correction. Zack slumped in a chair and ran his fingers through his wavy hair.

"Plus, there's no signs of him falling recently at all", Zack said to the ground. "This whole case is highly disconcerting."

"I can see why you'd find it that way", Marcy said sitting next to him and offering a water bottle. "But don't you revel in the challenge?"

Zack took the water bottle, but did not open it. "We face challenges with every case and of course, with each one comes it's own set of challenges. That's why I wanted this job in the first place. But rarely do the facts come to a dead end like this."

"Maybe you should try a different approach", Marcy said taking another sip of tea.

"What other approach is there?" Zack was growing exasperated.

"Well… something beyond the facts, maybe?" Marcy said wincing.

"How else can you discover anything? Facts speak for themselves!" Zack said, now starting to pace about the room. "We've looked at everything—the facts alone should always speak for themselves. Maybe if I could get a hold of the bones, I could find something they may have missed. Yet Dr. Brennan was presiding over the examination the whole time. This is completely illogical! Every variable of a death or murder is always found in the physical facts. Until now!"

Just as Zack slapped the case study folder onto the table, Vincent Nigel-Murray had poked his head into the visiting room. He immediately sensed the tension in the place and entered gingerly. When Zack looked over his shoulder to see who it was, he scoffed and buried his head back into the X-rays with a huff.

Vincent mouthed to Marcy, "Lunch?" They had made it a habit of having lunch together for the past month. Marcy nodded at Vincent, then turned to Zack and swiped the X-rays out of his hand.

"I'm going to lunch", she said. "And you are too."

"I have to go over these", Zack said determinedly.

"You already have— fifty-seven times. And now you need a break."

"The murderer isn't taking a break."

"Well whatever he's doing, at least he's probably eating", Marcy snipped back.

Zack looked over at Vincent again. "You don't vary your company very often, do you?"

"Dr. Addy", Marcy cut in before Vincent could respond. "I'm going to take these case studies and you're going to eat your lunch and relax your mind for one solid hour."

"There is not such thing as relaxing your mind. Your brain is constantly active to keep your body…"

_SLAM._ Marcy had already disappeared behind the door and was trotting down the hall with Vincent, who offered Zack a weak smile. Zack only furrowed his brow and pursed his lips at the Brit.

After lunch, the rest of the day did not improve for Zack. Marcy was already devising a plan to help alleviate the pressure Zack was putting on himself.

MONDAY, INSTITUTION:

That Monday, Marcy entered the visiting room with two other people—a man and woman, Mediterranean, most likely married— and no case reports in hand. Zack immediately bristled. Marcy introduced them: their names were Caleb and Maria Cavazos and they were colleagues of Marcy's when she was a Theatre major.

"Dance lessons?" Zack's eyes popped open when Marcy explained the situation to him. "What possible use could dance lessons be to me while there is a case unsolved?"

"The rest of the Jeffersonian team will do what they usually do", Marcy said adjusting her glasses. "Plus, it'll only take two hours every other day. You can resume work after the lessons."

"Were these approved by Sweets?" Zack sneered.

"Positively", Marcy said.

"And what would be the purpose of these dance lessons?"

"To gain a sense of self", Marcy said as she helped Caleb and Maria with their equipment. "I want you to start respecting yourself as a whole person as opposed to just an intellect. Also, dancing has been proven to chip away at social ineptitude."

"You're not making any sense."

"I get that sometimes", Marcy said. Her golden brown eyes skewered his slightly darker pair meaningfully. The past four months with Zack had conditioned her to be firm. Zack's arched eyebrows eventually relaxed and Marcy smirked at her mini-triumph.

"All right, guys!" Marcy called over her shoulder towards the door. It creaked open hesitantly as Hodgins and Angela filed in. Though Zack was elated to see them, his face stiffened in shock and embarrassment. Dr. Bailey was not going to have them watch, was she?

"Hey, Z-Man", Hodgins grinned good-naturedly. "You ready to tango with the best?"

"_You_ can tango?" Zack knitted his eyebrows suspiciously.

"Well", Hodgins flubbed. "I will in about an hour or two. Or Cha-cha or whatever. Dancing comes easy to Jack Hodgins, baby."

Angela rolled her almond eyes. "Yeah, through out our entire relationship, I have yet to see this."

"Shouldn't you be back at the lab?" Zack asked impatiently. "Figuring out the murder weapon?"

"Nice to see you too, Sweetie", Angela said with mock honey in her voice.

"Relax, dude", Hodgins nudged Zack's shoulder. "Brennan, Cam, and Fisher have it all under control. There isn't much for us to do anyway since we're kind of in a rut."

"I must say you're all treating this rather lightly", Zack frowned. Caleb and Maria's eyes darted between Zack and the others as they step up a boom box in the corner.

"Dr. Hodgins and Ms. Montenegro will only be joining us for this first lesson. Please don't worry", Marcy assured him.

"Dr. Bailey, I can't dance", Zack insisted.

"Hence the lessons, Dr. Addy", Marcy sighed.

After Hodgins and Angela thoroughly related to Zack all that they had already done everything in their power and expertise to dissect the victim's murder, the floppy-haired forensic anthropologist reluctantly agreed to the dance lesson. He shuffled in line as Caleb and Maria positioned Hodgins and Angela—Maria would dance with Zack and Caleb would demonstrate with Marcy, who was already a proficient dancer.

The first lesson was slow, awkward, and yet jovial. Caleb and Maria started off the group with the basic salsa.

Hodgins did not quite live up to his previous boasting, but Angela's sense of rhythm made him appear smoother than he was. The couple giggled like high schoolers as they struggled through the sequence, pressing their foreheads together to watch their feet and counting out loud in unison. Eventually, they had it down enough for Hodgins to spin his lovely wife and dip her half way to the floor with ease.

Zack moved as if he were made of tin. The kindly Maria was patient and gently guided his steps, placing his arms where they needed to be, and offering words of encouragement. Even Maria soon caught on to what made Zack tick.

"Think of it as a moving numeral sequence", she said as she moved about the floor with him with silky steps. "One, two, three, four…"

The gears were beginning to turn in Zack's head as Maria moved him through the routine. Hodgins, Angela, Marcy, and Caleb all watched intently from their positions on the dance floor.

"The numeral sequence", Maria continued. "Must follow a certain pattern and always must return to the first number. There are simply certain moves that are required to get there, almost like a plus sign or division sign."

The lights went on in Zack's head.

"He's calculating", Hodgins said smirking at Angela.

"I see…" Zack said as his mind worked its magic. Then he gripped Maria's hand and waist confidently and lead the routine himself. He was still rather mechanical, but he performed nearly perfectly to the beat of the music.

Maria and the others gasped astonished and erupted into an enthusiastic applause. Marcy smiled at her patient almost like a proud mother.

"Zack!" she exclaimed forgetting herself for a moment. "That was amazing!"

Zack, surprised at himself, could only nod modestly, barely able to suppress a grin as Hodgins patted him on the back.

"Maria, you're a genius!" Marcy shook hands with her friend.

Then Zack did what Zack does best. "Well, technically speaking, though a skilled dancer and observant instructor, Mrs. Cavazos possesses no where near the IQ of what would be considered a genius."

"Well that's good enough for me", Caleb said as he kissed his wife's cheek.

With the first dance lesson over, Marcy felt Zack might have made a small breakthrough. The genius, though quietly revelling in his new developing skill, still stored most of his heart in his intellect and dove straight into work once Caleb, Maria, Hodgins, and Angela left for the day.

By lunch, Zack had still not made any progress on the murder weapon and his confidence was shaken once more as if the dance lesson had never happened.

"I still think you may be thinking in the wrong direction", Marcy said as she gathered her things for lunch break.

"The facts always turn out the answers", Zack droned, eyes growing puffy from looking at the X-rays for so long.

"Well, when the physical facts fail, then it's time to turn to something else. In this case, lunch."

"Why must you always impede on my progress with the socially constructed concept of lunch?"

"Last I checked, you typically liked that socially constructed concept", Marcy said, pulling on her long coat and rubbing her glasses.

Zack sighed heavily then swept his lazy brown eyes towards Marcy. "I suppose you'll be meeting with Mr. Nigel-Murray again?"

"Yes", Marcy said. _Why did he care?_ she thought.

"Hmm…" Zack said looking back at the X-ray half-heartedly.

"What?" Marcy asked, sensing his disapproval.

"What?" Zack repeated innocently. "Oh, I was just wondering about the socially constructed concept of dating. I haven't experienced much of it myself. At least not in its proper form, according to Hodgins and Angela. It would be… interesting to observe it again."

Marcy furrowed her eyebrows. _What is he getting at?_

Zack continued, "Of course, being in the institution makes it difficult to observe that sort of situation. I'm afraid my lack of experience and example is making it harder for me to remember social normalities and the like…"

"All right!" Marcy said. "I'll get you a pass so you can come… 'observe' Vincent and me. On our date."

Zack was glad he was facing away from Marcy so he could smile triumphantly to himself. He made sure to add in his monotone way, "I don't want to inconvenience you."

"Dr. Addy, grab your coat", Marcy said, knowing his game and deciding to let him win.

ROYAL DINER:

Lunch was at the Royal Diner as usual. At first Vincent was a bit put out by Zack's presence, but once Marcy explained to him the situation, the British intern conceded pleasantly.

Zack remained silent at first, watching Marcy and Vincent placidly or looking around the diner, possibly with fond memories. None of them could quite put the looming figure in the corner of the diner out of their mind—a guard from the Institution to make sure Zack did not make a run for it. Both he and Zack wore bracelets so if either of them got too far from each other, the bracelet would stun Zack enough to subdue him for an hour.

Right now the subject was Shakespeare.

"I once played Hero in 'Much Ado About Nothing'", Marcy said popping a French fry into her mouth.

"Don't you mean heroine?" Zack asked her.

"No", Vincent corrected. "Hero is the actual name of the daughter of Leonato in Shakespeare's play. Great role. Did Claudio pull your hair?"

"He did!" Marcy laughed. "It was terribly melodramatic. I wept and begged my little 16-year old heart out on the floor."

"It is generally believed", Vincent began. "That Will Shakespeare was about 46 around the time that the King James Version of the Bible was being written. Now, in Psalms 46, the 46th word from the first word is 'shake' and the 46th word from the last word is 'spear'."

"Wow!" Marcy said. "That is so creepy! I'm going to have to look that up when I get home."

Zack huffed under his breath, but the other two took no notice.

"Isn't it?" Vincent said. "Things like that give me a bit of a chill."

Zack suddenly spoke up. "Forty-six is actually the number of different arrangements—up to rotation and reflection—of 9 non-attacking Queens on a 9×9 chessboard."

Vincent and Marcy halted their conversation as the mood took a dive into a heavy awkward moment.

"Fascinating", Vincent said quaintly and smiled at Zack, who did not return it.

There was another silence before Vincent broke it again, turning to Zack. "So how is the case concerning the hunter going?"

"The hunter?" Marcy asked.

"The case where we cannot seem to find a murder weapon", Zack explained. "It remains unsolved."

"You never said he was a hunter", Marcy said.

"I said aloud that his distal and proximal interphalangeal joints on his second phalange displayed signs of corrosion commonly associated with 'trigger finger'."

Marcy frowned at him.

"Yes, he was a hunter", Zack simplified. "Why is this important?"

"Why is this important?" Marcy leaned forward in her chair excited. "Did the man have a deer head in his house? Specifically a buck?"

"I believe so", Zack frowned. "It had not been to a taxidermy specialist yet, though. Why?"

"Ah, I see where you're going with this!" Vincent said, also rising from his seat. It dawned on Zack as well and he turned to Vincent, their brilliant minds working together.

"The reason we couldn't find any foreign particulates in the victim's bones", Zack said. "Was because the murder weapon itself _was_ bone."

"And the reason the points, though randomly scattered, were all pushed in at the same time", Vincent said. "Was because they were all a part of one unit."

"Antlers!" he and Zack said together, beaming at each other.

"Genius", Marcy said dryly unable to resist smirking at the two merry scientists.

INSTITUTION:

Zack was wrapping up the case reports with Vincent, the two chatting excited over things Marcy could only understand 50% of. Brennan, Booth, and the FBI still had to examine the deer head for blood, but it was almost a certainty. Vincent gathered his things and shook Zack's hand before walking over to Marcy.

"I'll see you in a few weeks", he said. "I've got to pop over the Pond to see how my mum and sister are fairing. I became an uncle a few days ago and I'm aching to see the wee one."

"Congratulations!" Marcy said patting Vincent's shoulder. "When you come back, we'll have to celebrate. Let me walk with you to the parking lot, I'll be out in a minute."

"Thanks! I'll be waiting outside", Vincent said and then stepped in to Marcy to kiss her cheek. Marcy's face immediately flushed tomato red, her round glasses accenting the shock on her face. Zack bit the inside of his cheek and pretended not to notice. Then Vincent scurried out the door, casting a sparkling look at Marcy, who returned it.

Marcy broke from her reverie and helped Zack file the papers away. She was not sure if he had seen her and Vincent's special moment.

"I understand now", Zack said abruptly.

"What?" Marcy said startled.

"I understand what you mean about looking at something else beyond the physical facts", Zack said. "You meant to examine things about the man. His past time, his habits… I'd forgotten how to process along those lines."

"Well… I'm glad I could be of service", Marcy smiled. Zack forced his brown eyes to remain on hers as he smiled back. Marcy caught a new kind of light in his previously lifeless eyes. Or perhaps it was not new—perhaps it was something that used to be there that either the Institution or his experience in Iraq or something else had been eating away at. _How could this person have killed someone in cold blood?_

Marcy broke from his gaze and looked down at the gruesome photographs of the murder victim taken at the crime scene. She made a noise of disgust, "Oy… I wonder how strong you would have to be to stab someone with a whole deer head and antlers."

"Quite", Zack said. "That's why the number one suspect right now is the victim's brother. Though I am deceptively strong, I know I could not physically perform such an act."

"You and me both", Marcy said.

"In fact, it would be difficult for me to even stab bone with a knife", Zack continued without hesitation or thought. "I broke my right wrist when I was twelve and to stab a sternum would be near impossible for me."

"Hmm…" Marcy mumbled as she took the case reports from him and moved towards the door.

"But that does not keep me from being able to perform my job and other everyday tasks."

"That's interesting, Dr. Addy" Marcy said, halfway out of the room. She was starting to feel exhausted and it was nearing 21:00. "I'll see you tomorrow, Dr. Addy."

"Ah…" Zack said slightly disappointed. Solving the case had given him a surge of energy and he was hoping to have someone to talk to. Yet he recognised the way Marcy was slumping inside her oversized coat and how her feet were turned inwards. _Possibly a hereditary trait_, Zack thought. In-toeing, or pigeon toeing, often revealed itself in adults when they were tired and unable to control their habitual childhood stance. Zack admired it adoringly.

"Have a pleasant sleep, Dr. Bailey", he said.

Marcy smiled warmly. "Goodnight, Dr. Addy."

As she closed the door behind her and began down the hall, Marcy ran over the day's events in her head. So far, in her mind, this had been the most successful and progressive session with Zack Addy. She smiled fondly as she remembered how his hair bounced when he leapt into the air at the diner. The guard from the Institution almost tackled him for fear he was going to take off.

Then Marcy stopped dead in her tracks.

"Holy Moses. He didn't kill the lobbyist."


	5. DoctorPatient Confidentiality

_A/N: Thank you for the reviews and favourites! Let's see how Marcy handles the realisation! Also, I don't know much about the law and a few of the details about the Gormogon case. If I get anything wrong, please remember its fanfiction. __ I'm not paid to do my research like the actual writers of "Bones" are._

_Disclaimer: (I keep forgetting this) I don't own "Bones" or Zack Addy, but I DO own Marceline Bailey._

**Chapter 5: Doctor-Patient Confidentiality **

JEFFERSONIAN LAB:

"Dude, I saw what I saw", Hodgins insisted as he plucked a maggot from a juicy corpse that was recently delivered to the lab.

"May I remind you that you're also a conspiracy theorist?" Sweets said keeping his distance from the putrid cadaver. "I've known Marceline since grad school. She's a professional. She would never fall for a patient…"

"Nuh uh, I didn't say she was falling for _him_", Hodgins smiled. "But _he _most definitely has the hots for your old classmate, Sweets."

"First of all, don't ever say it like that again. You sound like you're in high school", Sweets waved dismissively. "And secondly, I think it's only natural for Zack to have feelings for Dr. Bailey. She's an attractive, intelligent woman. It wasn't like I didn't predict this, but I'm sure once Zack gets used to her presence, his feelings will subside."

"Ooooh", Angela crooned as she trotted up to the platform. "Are you guys still speculating about Zack and poor Dr. Bailey?"

"I'm not! Hodgins is", Sweets was hasty to say.

"'Poor' Dr. Bailey?" Hodgins huffed in mock surprise. "That girl should consider herself lucky to capture Zack's attention. Especially while he's incarcerated."

"Jack", Angela warned playfully. "Let's just pay attention to the case. We don't want to upset Sweets here."

"I'm not upset!" Sweets yelled. Hodgins and Angela stared back at him ironically.

"Okay, okay", Sweets conceded. "Look, you guys don't understand. Marcy would _never_ fall for a patient."

"What makes you so sure?" Angela said longingly. "Love knows no bounds—"

"Because she's fallen for a patient before!" Sweets roared. "Even married the guy… And it almost killed her."

An awkward tension fell upon the three. "My God, how?" Angela asked.

"He seemed well, we all thought so, even me", Sweets said. "But there were red flags I should've paid attention to. I wish I did. They were married for less than a year when he started becoming emotionally and then physically abusive. Even after they divorced, he continued to harass her… Just less than a month before she came to work with Zack, he broke into her house and nearly strangled her to death. Only then were the authorities willing to lock him up again."

Hodgins and Angela fell into a guilty silence as Sweets regained his composure. The gentle Angela stroked Sweets' shoulder.

"Sweets, we had no idea", she said softly. "I'm so sorry if we came across insensitive."

"Yeah, man", Hodgins said. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay", Sweets waved them away. "Just don't tell her I told you any of this? It's still a sensitive subject to all of us involved. Especially her."

The others nodded as Angela said, "You've got it, Sweets. And Jack, hurry up with that victim. Cam wants me to ID him before lunch."

As if on cue, the automatic sliding doors hissed open with Cam stepping through. She ran briskly up to Sweets.

"Sweets, Marcy Bailey called", Cam said. "She wants to see you in your office."

"What for?" Sweets asked.

"She didn't say. But it's her day off and she sounded pretty anxious", Cam said, eyeing him. "Is there something going on with Zack?"

Sweets swallowed hard as he realised why. He knew it could not have been long until Marcy found out. He just did not know what to say when she did.

SWEETS' OFFICE:

Marcy paced the floor of Sweets' office like an angry bull about to tear apart a matador. Ironically, she made sure to dress in deep red—it was one of her best colours and conveyed power and aggression. She knew Sweets had been holding out on her. There was no way the truth was lost on him.

As the gangly psychologist drew near the door, Marcy lost her patience, grabbed his arm, and yanked him into the room.

"You knew!" she exploded.

"Shh! Keep it down!" Sweets hissed.

"You _knew_", Marcy whispered mockingly, her eyes ablaze behind those round glasses.

"Yes, yes, Marcy, I did", Sweets said urgently, his head darting about to make sure no one heard them.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Marcy said shoving her colleague violently. He stood nine inches above her, which made the scene look rather comical.

"Hey! What are we, in the 4th grade?" Sweets said rubbing his shoulder.

"Why didn't you tell me_, Lance?_" Marcy growled.

"Doctor-patient confidentiality", Sweets spoke quickly before she could hit him again.

"What? I _am_ his doctor now!" Marcy threw her head back in frustration. "You were supposed to tell me _everything_ about him when I took over his therapy. That's protocol, Lance!"

"I know, I know!" Sweets said, still making sure no one could hear them. "Will you keep it down? Let me explain everything."

"Ooooh, I can't wait", Marcy said plopping back down onto the sofa.

Sweets laid out his reasoning, still racing to speak before the other feisty psychologist exploded at him again. The main reason he did not tell her was because he wanted Zack to reveal the truth to her on his own. It would be a roughly measurable way of knowing how much Zack had come to trust Marcy. The second reason was that Sweets was not sure how Marcy would take the news—would she insist on making it public or would she understand Zack's reasoning for keeping it under wraps? Sweets could not risk Zack ending up in jail. Perhaps if Marcy got to know him, she would also understand why Zack would not do well in prison.

The fire seemed to die down in Marcy's demeanour as she relaxed her shoulders and spoke in a steady tone.

"I see", she said after Sweets finished. "I suppose I owe you an apology for getting so irrational."

"It's understandable", Sweets said as he sat across from her. "So… how are you feeling?"

"I'm not sure yet", Marcy said rubbing her forehead. "This whole time I was thinking he was this murderer and approaching him with the upmost care. Somehow I already knew, though. Something inside of me told me there was no way this person could have committed a crime like that… Even with his logic-driven mind."

"I felt the same thing", Sweets said. "I almost wasn't surprised. But Zack truly believes he would have done it if he could have. He believes he is dangerous."

"He can't possibly know that", Marcy said.

"Exactly what I said", Sweets said smiling. "I guess we went to the same grad school or something."

Marcy allowed herself to smile as her mind ran through several scenarios of what to do next. Unlike Sweets, Marcy had some extensive education in law and was trying to file through what she remembered about pleas of temporary insanity, adversaries to murder, and the like. Sweets eyed her knowingly.

"What are you planning on doing?" Sweets asked slowly.

"He has to get out of there", Marcy said gritting her teeth slightly and glanced up at her fellow psychologist.

A WEEK LATER, THE INSTITUTION:

Over a week had gone by and there had been no communication or sign of Dr. Bailey at the Institution. At first Zack thought that she did not catch on to his allusion to his innocence, but now he knew for certain she had found out. But why stay away? Had she told anyone? If she had, then Zack was sure he would have relocated by now. Nevertheless, the lack of communication was driving his patience to its limit. Only Carlos and Maria came twice to give him his dancing lessons—they had already moved on to the Charleston, Fox Trot, and other basic Swing styles, all of which he mastered within hours. The case reports still flowed in, but not by Dr. Bailey. A ward of the Institution usually brought them to him and then quickly left the room.

When Dr. Bailey finally did arrive, Zack almost leapt from his chair. Even his logical facilities could not keep him from beaming at her presence.

"Dr. Bailey!" he said, suppressing the urge to step towards her. "I was not expecting you today."

"It's Monday", Marcy said evenly with an indistinguishable facial expression, making Zack feel uncomfortable.

"I'm going to cut to the chase, Dr. Addy", Marcy began again. Her voice was cold and deliberate, very different from what Zack was used to. "Upon our last meeting, it came to my attention that you did not kill the lobbyist. And yet you choose not to disclose this information publically for fear that you would end up in prison for being an adversary to murder."

Zack swallowed the lump in his throat. "That is correct."

Marcy continued, firing her questions at him like a prosecutor. "This… Gormogon person was the actual murderer. The person who physically plunged the knife into the chest of the lobbyist."

"That is correct."

"He plunged the knife into a grown man's chest, a feat which, because of your injuries"—Marcy slung forward an X-ray of Zack's own wrist—"you could not possibly perform."

"That is correct", Zack said, glancing at the X-ray. He was beginning to understand why Marcy had been absent for so long: she had been building a case for him.

"But you believe, Dr. Addy", Marcy said. "That you would have killed the lobbyist if Gormogon had asked you due to your devotion to him."

"… That is correct."

"Did he ask you to kill the lobbyist?"

"No."

"Did he ask you to kill or injure anyone?"

"No."

"Did he ask you to _spare_ anyone?"

"No."

"And you spared Dr. Jack Hodgins?"

Zack paused. This was a new twist on the situation. He already knew his logic was proven folly because he had been lead by a principal based off of the belief that the human experience as whole was greater than individual life, and yet he had risked his own to save another individual. But he never thought of it as acting against former master's commands.

Zack answered slowly. "… Yes."

"You acted outside of 'his' orders?"

"It would appear so", Zack was becoming breathless, beads of sweat lining his forehead.

"Right", Marcy said. "Then how could you say without a shadow of a doubt that you would have obeyed Gormogon's orders to kill a human being?"

Zack's brown eyes darted, looking for an answer.

Marcy continued. "Is that not mere conjecture, Dr. Addy, to say that you would have followed his orders considering you had the capacity to disobey them?"

The use of the word 'conjecture' was like a knife in Zack's gut and he winced at its usage. Marcy knew how to hit him where it hurt most. He nodded.

"Yes, it is", Zack said hoarsely, staring down.

"One more, Dr. Addy" Marcy said, still not lifting the harshness from her voice. Zack looked up at her with his large dark eyes helplessly. Inside Marcy felt like bursting—she could not bear to see Zack suffering under her interrogation. Yet she knew if she showed any sort of emotion, he might not answer her.

"Did Gormogon tell you he was going to kill the lobbyist?" Marcy asked, slicing the air with her icy tone.

Zack searched his memory. There was nothing. "… No. He did not tell me who he was going to kill. Just that he needed a certain bone and he would deliver it to me."

"He did not even tell you how he was going to retrieve that bone?"

Zack searched again. Nothing. "No."

Marcy finally allowed herself to smile. "Then according to the law, you are not an adversary to murder."

Lights flooded the room and the hallway. Zack looked up to see Brennan, Booth, Hodgins, Cam, Angela, Sweets, Caroline, and a few others from the Jeffersonian and FBI Headquarters lined up against the long window. They had heard everything.

Hodgins flung himself into the air and banged against the window in unbridled jubilation as Angela hugged her husband, kissing his cheek, and pumping her fist for Zack. Cam's mouth had fallen open, Booth was chuckling and clapping his hands, and Brennan was staring at her former assistant unable to hold back her tears of relief. Sweets was smiling at Marcy, nodding his head as if to say, "Well done, my friend."

Then the door burst open, Caroline leading the way with an official release form in her hand ready to sign. Hodgins shot forward and bounded into Zack's arms.

"Z-MAN!" the entomologist hollered. "I knew it! I knew it! You crazy son of a bitch!"

"Not so crazy anymore, it would seem", Caroline said smirking. "Dr. Zachary Addy, I hereby release you from all charges of murder, including adversary to murder."

The room erupted in cheering, whistling, and general merry-making. The Jeffersonian team positively smothered Zack with kisses, handshakes, hugs, and even a noogie from Booth. Marcy stood off to watch everything from a distance.

"Quiet, everyone! Quiet!" Caroline snapped and the room quickly died down. "Now while those charges have been dropped, Zack is still charged with grand theft and conspiring with a serial killer on some level. The FBI cannot fully release him under these charges, but thanks to Dr. Bailey here, they will not send him to rot in prison either."

"So what's going to happen?" Brennan asked, squeezing Zack's shoulders.

"I'm gettin' to that, cherie", Caroline said. "Zack may resume life outside of the Institution during the day, but his home, meaning the place he sleeps, must still be the Institution until either his therapist deems him psychologically stable enough to not fall under the influence of another powerful personality."

This seemed to suit the team well enough. Zack could perhaps win his day job back at the Jeffersonian.

"And to make sure Dr. Addy always remains in sight," Caroline glanced over at an unsuspecting Marcy. "He and his FBI-assigned psychologist will be wearing ankle monitors. If Dr. Addy steps more than half a mile away from Dr. Bailey, he will be stunned and Dr. Bailey will be notified when her ankle monitor sounds off."

Cam, Angela, and Sweets' mouths dropped while Hodgins and Booth burst into hysterics. Brennan did not find the humour in the situation at all and frowned her colleague and partner. Zack looked down to hide his smile. They all turned to an equally surprised Marcy, who looked as if she was going to bore holes into Caroline with her eyes.

"That wasn't in the agreement!" Marcy hissed.

"Oh, yes it was", Caroline chuckled. "You just didn't read the fine print, cherie."

"Ha HA!" Hodgins guffawed as the Jeffersonian team made their way towards the door. "This is going to be SO much fun! I thought I went to work for the bugs and the slime, but this is definitely going towards the top of my list."

"Looks like you got yourself a partner, Zack", Angela nudged him with her elbow and joined her husband.

"Yeah", Booth grinned walking beside Brennan. "They'll be like the child version of you and me, Bones!"

"What does a child have to do with it?" Brennan furrowed her brow.

The chatter eventually died down as they filtered out of the room, the last being Sweets, who shook Marcy's hand.

"This is why I looked you up, Marcy", Sweets said. "You always had that special touch that I never understood."

Marcy smiled at him. "Thank you, Lance. Thanks for believing in me."

Sweets smiled back and left her alone with Zack, who was fiddling with his new ankle monitor. Marcy turned to him and laughed.

"Hodgins is right", she chuckled. "This is kind of funny. It's like we're dogs or something."

"Except we're not", Zack said, still examining his monitor.

"Dr. Addy", Marcy began, but Zack's head shot up stopping her.

"Zack", he corrected. "I would like you to call me Zack."

Marcy was taken aback and grinned. "Zack… I'm sorry I violated doctor-patient confidentiality."

"You didn't."

"I… I didn't?"

"No. I never told you not to tell anyone. Only Dr. Sweets."

Marcy raised her eyebrows. "Oh… Well, then I guess I'm not sorry."

"Dr. Bailey", Zack said.

"Marcy", she corrected. Zack's cheeks flushed a vibrant red.

"… Marcy", he secretly tasted the name. "Since you know so much about me, I would like to ask that you reveal something personal about you."

"Um… all right, Zack", she said uneasily. "Shoot."

"A while back, when we were experimenting with those rifles from World War II with Dr. Protz and Hodgins", Zack said. "I saw bruise marks on your neck consistent with a hand print. A male hand print."

The hairs on the back of Marcy's neck stood on end. "That's a bit too personal, Zack."

"It would help me", Zack insisted. "If I knew what those were. They have been concerning me a great deal and could possibly distract from my work."

"They're from my ex-husband", Marcy said with difficulty. "His name is James Jensen. We married when I was rather young. He was a former patient of mine and Sweets' who we deemed psychologically stable. A year into our marriage… he grew… abusive."

"This must have been recent, considering the bruising", Zack said carefully.

"We have been divorced for about nine months now", Marcy said, trying to keep her voice steady. "But even then he would find me and… say things. Awful things. Just a month before I met you, he broke into our—my house and threatened me. Hence the bruising."

"I see", Zack said, somewhat embarrassed that he asked yet also relieved to have this knowledge. "If you wish it, I will not disclose this information to anyone."

"Thank you, I do", Marcy smiled weakly. "He's in prison now. There's little chance of him hurting me again."

Zack looked at her as meaningfully as he could. He wished he knew how to comfort someone, but all the ways he had seen could be considered inappropriate in this situation. He did not wish to push Marcy away, especially since he was now in the same position that James Jensen had once been in.

"I would not allow that to happen", Zack said before he could stop the words from coming out of his mouth.

Marcy, eyes red from holding back tears, snapped her face up to him in surprise.

"Of course", Zack fumbled with his words. "It is technically not in my control. I'm sure the fact that he is in prison would be the first barrier between him and yourself. Besides, there are…"

"Thank you, Zack", Marcy said smiling. Her body so badly wanted to lean against his in an embrace, but she could not allow herself. Marcy gathered her wits and snatched up her purse.

"So I will see you tomorrow?" Zack asked. "It's just that last time you did not show up for your sessions for a full week. I want to be certain."

"Huh", Marcy huffed as she held up the ankle monitor in her hand. "You'll be seeing so much of me, you'll get sick of my face."

"That isn't possible", Zack said deliberately.

Marcy nodded with a girlish smile and waved goodbye. Zack waved back and she was gone.

The forensic anthropologist sighed as he soaked in the thought of his new freedom all thanks to this curious woman who came into his life only four months ago. He looked at the ankle monitor sitting in his lap and spoke to it, using a term he often heard Hodgins employ.

"You just might turn out to be the best wing-man I've ever had."

_A/N: Whee! Zack is OUTTA THERE! Things are really going to kick off now with Zack back in the lab and the tension building between him and Marcy, especially since they ALWAYS have to be within arm's reach. Let me know what you think!_


	6. Zack is Back

_A/N: Aww! All your reviews for Chapter 5 were so beautiful and encouraging! I'm glad you like my style so far. FYI, I'm changing the distance that the ankle monitor will allow Marcy and Zack can stand from each other. Just go with the flow… _

_Disclaimer: I don't own "Bones" or Zack Addy, but I DO own Marceline Bailey. Please don't steal her. Zack will be mad._

0000

**Chapter 6: Zack is Back **

JEFFERSONIAN LAB – BRENNAN'S OFFICE:

"Booth, I don't understand why you're so nervous", Dr. Temperance Brennan said as she scanned over a fresh case report. Her spirited partner was pacing her office, slapping his hands together with anxious energy as the gears in his vast imagination overworked themselves.

"I'm not nervous, Bones, just concerned. There's a difference", Booth said frowning at the floor. "I'm just not sure about your old squinty assistant being back at the Jeffersonian again."

"You seemed fine with it the other night", Brennan replied cooly, glancing up at him with her stunning blue eyes.

"Yeah, of course I'm happy for the guy", he began. "He didn't commit a crime, he's outta jail now, justice was served. What's not to be happy for?"

"Exactly", Brennan said.

"Exactly! But, I finally had a chance to think it through", Booth said.

"Ah, yes. Your cognitive process isn't as fast as—"

"Now, don't give me that genius, fast-thinking, genius crap, Bones", Booth pointed his finger at Brennan's upturned nose. "I'm trying to put my thoughts into words here. Plus, it's not that my thinking is slow. There's a new complication going on here."

"Are you talking about that neo-Nazi group that demonstrated a few miles from here on Sunday?"

"Yes!" Booth clapped his hands and pointed at her.

"What do they have to do with Zack?" Brennan asked crossing her arms.

"Nothing, eh, directly", Booth said fumbling through a file on Brennan's desk. "It's just their leader, this, ah… Herbert Barnes. I've seen some of his speeches and he's a pretty powerful, convincing guy."

"So?"

"He's also the number one suspect for that victim out there that Cam and Hodgins are de-sliming right now. The poor girl came from a local wealthy Jewish family who made significant donations to the Holocaust Exhibit here at the Jeffersonian."

"And Zack is involved how?"

"What if… Zack falls under the influence of another persuasive nut job like this guy?"

"Booth", Brennan smiled as she realised her partner was actually concerned about Zack. "Zack isn't a marionette. He's capable of making rational decisions."

Booth rolled his eyes, "Yeah, like with the Gormogon thing, right?"

"You can't get all scared for Zack every time a charismatic leader or speaker comes around, Booth", Brennan said, eyeing her partner.

"What? I'm not 'scared' for Zack, okay? I'm _concerned_. Remember? Big difference."

"Concern can be considered a precursor of fear", Brennan said, getting up from her desk. "Besides, I think Zack and Dr. Bailey have the potential for forming a sexual relationship, so Zack will naturally want to impress her by… _not_ teaming up with a serial killer again."

"What? Zack and Harry Potter?"

"Who?" Brennan cocked an eyebrow.

"Harry Potter. It's what I call her now because of those, you know", Booth waggled his finger around his eyes to indicate Marcy's round glasses, but Brennan did not follow. "Nevermind. What makes you say that?"

"Zack perspires whenever he looks at her or talks to her, indicating a sudden rise in body temperature, which usually means there's a rush of blood towards his genit—"

"Yeah! Okay!" Booth stopped her. "That's more than I've ever wanted to know about Zack. Thanks, Bones."

"Just watch", Brennan said teasingly. "This is funny. Usually I'm the one who's clueless about interpersonal relationships. Maybe you're loosing your touch, Booth."

"All right, Seeley Booth does _not_ loose his touch, trust me", Booth said, straightening his loud tie. "Besides, this isn't interpersonal, you're analysing them like they're some cheetahs on a Discovery Channel show or something."

"We'll see who's right about my cheetahs", Brennan grinned at him and the Special Agent could not help but smile back at his partner. The sweet curvature of her pink mouth seemed to grow more inviting with each new smile she rewarded him. Booth was relieved when the glass sliding doors hissed open so he could divert his attention away from Brennan.

MAIN LAB:

As the doors divided, Dr. Zack Addy and Dr. Marcy Bailey stepped through into the sleek Jeffersonian Lab. Zack was out of his Institute-designated jumpsuit and back into a stripped collared shirt with a carefully-chosen tie. His hair, while still full and winging away from his ears and neck, had been trimmed out of his eyes. Marcy still donned her iconic round glasses with her hair in long, soft curls that breezed back away from her face as she walked. She was floating in a silky Forget-Me-Not coloured poet's blouse with khaki trousers and brown flats.

Yet even their rather chic entrance could not conceal the curious blinking devices latched to both of their right ankles.

Hodgins stared at them, grinning conspiringly at Cam and said, "Dude, I wish they had walked up in slow motion and had 'Uncle Johnny' by the Killers playing in the background."

"Dude", Cam retorted. "I wish you'd collect your particulates from this victim in fast-forward motion. Thanks."

"But Zack is BACK, baby!" Hodgins dropped his tweezers and ran up to his friend along with Angela, Brennan, and several others. Cam could only heave a sigh and allow her employees to have their moment—not even she could stay away.

"MARCY!" Vincent Nigel-Murray's lyrical voice rang out as he ran up to the startled psychologist, scooping her into his arms and twirling her about. Through his handshakes and 'thanks yous', Zack Addy watched this interaction with a pensive eye.

"Marcy, daffodil", Vincent said grinning. "I heard the excellent news this morning about what you did for Dr. Addy."

"Did you?" Marcy was out of breath simply from the sight of him. She had not seen Vincent in two weeks.

"Yes! Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!" he said beaming at her. "It's so thrilling to know while I was overseas, you were building this fantastic case for one of the Jeffersonian's finest. You've done a great service, Marce."

"Oh, Vincent, it's wonderful to hear you say that", Marcy grew red from his praise.

Vincent looked up at Zack and held out his hand. "Welcome back, Dr. Addy."

Zack could not help but notice that Vincent's other hand was sitting quaintly on Marcy's miniscule waist—a feature of hers Zack had always admired. He had to bite his lip in order to accomplish a civil handshake with the British squintern. Brennan, watching this exchange from a few feet away, nudged Booth in the ribs while mouthing 'cheetahs', to which he frowned at and motioned for her to follow him back to FBI Headquarters.

"Thank you, Mr. Nigel-Murray", Zack said flatly. "I'm afraid that I have some work to do and Marcy must accompany me now."

"Whatever for?" Vincent chuckled. "Are you not released from the Institution?"

"Ah, they must not have told you that part", Marcy said grimacing and pointing down to her and Zack's ankles where the monitors were blinking devilishly back up at Vincent.

"My word! They've got you monitored?" Vincent looked between Marcy and Zack.

Overhearing this delectable conversation, Jack Hodgins popped his head into the group and said with a grin, "They can't be more than 300 feet away from each other or Zack will be stunned."

Zack smiled at his best friend. "This means we'll have to be in each other's close-range proximity at all times during the day."

"Or he'll be stunned", Hodgins repeated followed by a sidelong glance from Zack.

"Ah, I see", Vincent said searching his mind for a proper response. "Interestingly, it was a _Spider-Man_ comic that inspired Jack Love in 1983 to initiate the first legal ankle monitor programmes for convicted criminals. He was from Albuquerque."

Marcy had known Vincent long enough to understand that he was easing himself into the reality willingly and pressed her cheek to his in an embrace. A flustered Zack pursed his lips and felt his face grow hot, internally rationalising his way out of an emotional response. Thankfully, Angela stepped up to them before Zack had to put in any real effort.

"Here, Zack", the forensic artist said as she handed over Zack's old blue lab coat with 'Z. Addy' embroidered on it. "We've held onto this because in our hearts we always knew you'd be back. This is yours forever, Z-man."

For a moment, Zack forgot about Vincent as his red mouth curled up into an appreciative smile, "Thank you, Angela."

"And you, missy", Angela now turned her attention to Marcy. "Since you're going to be Zack's shadow for a long while, you're going to wear this."

Angela produced one of the lighter-blue intern coats—like the ones Vincent, Wendell, Fisher, etc. wear—with her name embroidered on the left side: 'M. Bailey'.

"Angela!" Marcy said, touched. "This is lovely, thank you."

"We will never forget what you did for our Zack", Angela said, grabbing Marcy into a tight squeeze. "You're part of the team now!"

Hodgins peeked around Angela's shoulder, "Yeah, there's no going back. You've joined the Dark Side, M-Cat."

Angela winced at her husband, "M-Cat?"

"Yeah", Hodgins said pointing at Zack, then Marcy. "Z-man, M-Cat. They're an infamous duo now."

"M-Cat sounds like one of those nasty college exams or something…"

"It is", Zack and Vincent said in unison, which prompted them to grin at each other despite themselves.

At this point, Cam had allowed her employees to ogle over Zack's return, but she still had a corpse on her table. The New Yorker pathologist called out from the centre platform to her team.

"Hey, people, let's get this guy identified before Jesus comes back, all right?" Then Cam smiled at Zack, "Welcome back, Zacaroni! I'll hand this victim over to you in a few minutes at you can work your magic!"

"Thanks, Dr. Saroyan!" Zack called back with a wave of his hand, resisting the urge to tell her that he did not actually know any such magic, only scientific method.

JEFFERSONIAN LAB – DR. ADDY'S/INTERN ROOM:

It was not long before the corpse—female, mid to late thirties, later identified as Sarah Eisenberg—was placed in Zack's former workspace, now usually occupied by the rotating interns. Under contract, the interns could not be let go because of Zack's return, which in itself was tentative. They simply worked along side Cam more often than before. Eventually if things seemed to be flowing well, Cam planned on placing Zack in charge of monitoring the interns' progress.

Due to the short distance allowed between Marcy and Zack, both always had to be in the lab together and to be safe, they usually remained in the same room. Since this put a huge dent in Marcy's private profession she had no choice but to recommend her other patients elsewhere. Because of this, the FBI was paying her double to compensate for her lost source of income. At first she felt angered—what would she do during this period? Simply sit there like a babysitter and watch him work? It would be an insult to both her and him.

After some thought, her attitude grew more positive and she decided that while she would continue his therapy, including dance lessons with Carlos and Maria when the time warranted. At the same time, she planned to learn from him. Marcy felt if she asked him enough questions, Zack could slip into a sort of teacher-mode, a way for him to impart his knowledge onto others. The interaction could strengthen his social skills and confidence.

Zack got to work debriding the unfortunate victim moving about the room as if he were there yesterday. Enthralled, Marcy allowed herself to be mesmerised by his process, careful to ask questions sparingly at first.

JEFFERSONIAN LAB – THE BONE STORAGE ROOM:

When the bones were finally clean, Marcy followed Zack into the bones storage room where he meticulously laid out the skeleton, piece by piece. Marcy could not help but admire the way he moved about the table, delicately placing the bones like an intricate puzzle as the light from the examination table illuminated his face. His long, white fingers moved skilfully over the fragments and caused Marcy to blush as she pushed the thought of them laced around her jaw out of her mind.

Cam trotted into the storage room, smiling at Zack's progress. No one could debride and reassemble an entire skeleton as fast as he could.

"Do we have any clues as to a cause of death, Zacaroni?" Cam asked as she looked over the skeleton.

"The victim was very clearly shot several times", Zack said. "But they're scattered through out almost at random. Mostly located in the fourth and fifth ribs, clavicle, scapula, one in the occipital, which would have been the fatal blow if none of the others killed her. There are also two grazing marks on her humerus and ulna."

"Multiple shooters from different angles?" Cam frowned.

"That's what I first thought", Zack said. "But the bullet wounds appear to be from the same gun, or at least the same model. I'm not comfortable confirming that theory, though. We'll have to have Hodgins or Angela investigate that."

"So… he ran around her in a circle shooting at her?" Cam said. "That makes no sense."

"Unless she was the one who was turning", Marcy piped up; Zack and Cam turned to her.

Zack knew he should have been frustrated that someone else had thought of something so obvious before he did, but instead he grinned at her. Marcy shied from his smile, which Cam took special notice of.

JEFFERSONIAN LAB – ANGELA'S OFFICE:

Within two hours, Angela had confirmed the make of the bullets and firearm—they had indeed come from the same gun. Zack, Marcy, Hodgins, Vincent, and Cam were all gazing up at Angela's computer as a 3D model of the weapon spun before them.

"So, it doesn't make much sense that the killer would run around the victims whilst shooting her", Hodgins recapped. "But, as our lovely Miss Marcy pointed out, Sarah Eisenberg could have been turning while being shot at."

Angela pulled up another 3D rendering of the skeleton on her screen with red markers scattered around the ribs, arms, shoulders, and skull. "Here are the points at which she was hit or grazed", Angela said. "Judging by the angles of the wounds, she should have turning at a speed of…"

"Three revolutions a minute", Zack said without blinking. "That's not very fast. I would imagine if she were turning to run from the initial shots, then the bullet wounds would not be so consistent."

"The typical car turntable turns at about three to four revolutions a minute", Vincent said glancing at the others.

"Why would she be on a car turn table?" Zack asked, suppressing his annoyance, which was not lost on Hodgins.

"She worked at a used car lot", Booth said as he stepped into the room with Brennan. "Her godfather owned the place and she apparently had some of the top sales in the company."

Brennan looked over her team, still getting used to seeing it so complete with Zack back in the room. "Can we determine the height of the shooter from the computer?"

"Ah… Unfortunately, I'm having difficulty with that", Angela said.

Hodgins discretely nudged Zack's arm, who at first frowned at the entomologist, but immediately understood that special glimmer in his eye. Cam caught this interaction, knowing her employees all too well.

"Dr. Saroyan", Zack began. "May Hodgins and I—"

Cam cleared her throat at darted her eyes at Vincent.

"I'm sorry", Zack said through his teeth. "May Hodgins, _Vincent_, and I perform an experiment to determine the height of the assailant?"

"You certainly may", Cam said with a warm smile. Secretly, she looked forward to another special Zack-and-Hodgins experiment.

"Awesome!" Hodgins said clapping his hands. "We're going to need Marcy."

"What?" Zack, Vincent, and Marcy cried out together.

JEFFERSONIAN LAB – THE CENTRE PLATFORM:

Within a few minutes, the slight figure of Marcy Bailey was engulfed in Hodgins' pants, tennis shoes, and one of Zack's old button-up plaid shirts, which because of Zack's height, almost hung to her knees. Marcy growled as she yanked up her (Hodgins') pants and attempted to stomp up to the platform, ending up looking like a childish shuffle.

"I look like a scarecrow", Marcy growled as the rest of the team, which now included Sweets, chuckled unabashedly.

"I get you one of the top psychologists in her field and this is how you're using her?" Sweets ran his hands down his face, unable to hold back his laughter.

"Oh yeah, baby", Hodgins smiled as he began strapping paintball gear onto her arms. "Zack's hip-attachment happens to be the right height of our victim."

"Somebody better buy me a drink after this", Marcy glared at Hodgins, who only tussled her dark hair playfully.

Vincent took the liberty of strapping on her shin gear to steal the opportunity to pinch her knee. Marcy yelped slightly, muffling a giggle at the Brit, who grinned back up at her.

Once again, Zack's face flushed hot red and before he could stop himself, he snatched the paintball mask from under Vincent's reach and stepped dangerously close to Marcy. She was caught off guard and could not help but take a half step backwards, her golden brown eyes snapping up at him warily. Zack, equally surprised by his own actions, blinked at her with his large, dark orbs, his lazy eyelashes fluttering upwards. Then he reached for Marcy's glasses, a hand on either temple, and gently pulled them away from her face. It was the first time any of them had seen her without her glasses; it was clear that she had been hiding behind them. Obscured by the roundness of the frames, Marcy's eyes had an almond shape to them with black lashes that thickened towards the outside of her eyes. Feeling exposed, she looked up at Zack somewhat pleadingly, but the forensic anthropologist could barely hold his gaze as he handed off the glasses to Hodgins (who was almost unzipping his face with a knowing smile at Angela). Swallowing, Zack then delicately flicked a few stray strands of her hair out of her face as he situated the paintball mask and protective goggles over her head.

This whole ordeal happened in a manner of seconds, of course, but it felt like eons to Zack and Marcy, and unfortunately to poor Vincent, who could only watch helplessly. Hodgins was almost squealing at Angela, who was also beaming at the young Doctors Addy and Bailey. Sweets merely shook his head and stood back with Vincent.

"All righty then!" Hodgins snapped his fingers and started handing out paintball guns, each filled with different coloured paintballs. "Okay, people, we're trying to figure out how the tall the killer was, so we're going to shoot Marcy with the paintballs and the angles of the splatters should be able to tell us if one of our heights is the winner."

"I cannot believe I'm doing this", Marcy said, her voice muffled by the mask.

"Believe it, honey", Angela said sympathetically. "It's better just to accept whatever goes on in this place."

"Dr. Bailey", Hodgins asked with honey in his voice. "Would you step up onto the car turntable, please?"

Marcy had no choice but to shuffle up to the turntable and assumed her position as the test dummy. Hodgins flicked a switch on the side of the turntable and it began rotating slowly, displaying Marcy as if she were a Honda.

"Everyone ready?" Hodgins grinned out the side of his mouth as he gripped his paintball gun.

"Don't hurt her", Zack muttered over Hodgins' shoulder. Hodgins glanced up at Zack knowingly, though the forensic anthropologist did not seem to follow.

_Pow! Pow! Pow!_ Hodgins, Vincent, and Sweets fired a hailstorm of pink, green, and purple paintballs all over Marcy's torso and shoulders. The thin psychologist yelped, resisting the instinct to throw up her hands to protect herself. Hopping from foot to foot in an awkward jig, she had to lurch forward and backwards to keep her balance on the spinning turntable, which caused even more uproarious laughter from the Jeffersonian team. Zack watched her intently, noting how even in this clumsy situation, Marcy still (at least to him) managed to move with grace. Finally, the paintballs stopped and Marcy slumped, panting and glaring at Hodgins through her paint-covered goggles as hard as she could.

Hodgins did not bother to supress his giggles, "Vincent… Haha, dude, get up there and tell me wha-what you see—ahahahaaaa!"

Throwing aside his gun, Vincent bounded up to Marcy, "Are you quite alright?"

"Yes", Marcy sighed. "I'm going to have welts all over, aren't I?"

"You might", Vincent winked at her. "But I'm sure it won't alter your elegant gait much. You know, when you've been hit in the mask or goggles, the colloquial term for that is 'gogged'?"

"So I've been gogged?" Marcy said, her voice still muffled by the mask.

"Indeed", Vincent chuckled and then called over to Hodgins. "My green paintballs are a no-go, so the assailant was taller than 1.75 meters. Sweets' purple paintballs are a hair too tall, so the assailant is at or below 1.83 meters. And Hodgins, your pink balls are entirely too short."

Marcy could not contain herself and positively erupted in hysterics while Hodgins' looked as if he had been slapped. Angela and Sweets struggled to contain their own merriment. It finally dawned on Vincent what he had said, but Hodgins was already aiming his paintball gun at the intern and fired a shot, smacking the small of Vincent's back. The Brit grasped his wound, arching backwards.

"Ack! Bloody wanker!" he growled as only Vincent Nigel-Murray could.

Zack's face grew as red as a tomato, suppressing his growing outburst with his hand until he could not help it anymore. He joined the others in their hysteria, clutching his side, as he had not been used to this kind of laughter in a long time.

"All right, all right", Vincent said as he stepped off the turntable and turned to help Marcy down. "So we're looking for someone between 1.83 and 1.75 meters…"

"So between 6-feet and 5'9"?" Marcy asked. Zack swallowed his giggles and nodded, impressed by her quick math. "Oh, well that's about Zack's height, isn't it?"

"Boy, I must be working in the wrong place."

It was Carl Protz from the Modern European department that Marcy, Zack, and Hodgins had met a month earlier. He was met by a warm handshake from Hodgins and flashed his white smile at Marcy, who was glad her mask covered her blushing.

"We were just performing our usual evil scientist experiment", Hodgins said.

"I see! I happened to be passing by when I heard all of you laughing", Protz said glancing at Zack, surprised. "You…"

"Me", Zack said flatly, squinting at the splatter marks on Marcy's clothing.

"You're… out?" Protz cocked an eyebrow.

"For good", Sweets said flitting his eyes at Marcy with pride. "Turns out he's not a murderer."

"My goodness", Protz said. "Congratulations, Dr. Addy."

"1.78", Zack said.

"What?" Protz asked.

"He's saying the assailant is 1.78 meters", Hodgins said. "Good work, Zack."

"Still got it, Z-man", Angela said rubbing Zack's shoulder.

"King of the Lab?" Zack glanced down at his best friend.

"Dude", Hodgins said, stretching his eyebrows. "I don't care if you just got back, that still ain't worthy of King. Not yet, anyway."

"Are you boys finished shooting our psychologist?" Cam called up to the team on the platform. "I'd like to give Brennan and Booth a lead."

"If Brennan answers the phone, tell her the assailant is 1.78 meters", Hodgins called back. "If it's Booth, tell him 5'10"."

"You've got a cell phone, you can do the honours", Cam said and trotted back to her office.

Hodgins bit his lip and turned to the others, "Well after I make the call, anyone up for lunch?"

Marcy tore off her paintball mask causing her long, dark tresses to scatter messily around her face, "As long as you're buying for me."

INSTITUTION – LATER THAT NIGHT:

Vincent Nigel-Murray waited outside the Institution as Marcy, bespectacled once again, walked Zack back to his room for the night. It had been a long day, being Zack's first back at the Jeffersonian, though he acted as though he never left. He and Marcy turned in their ankle monitors at the front desk and said their goodbyes.

"Goodnight, Zack", Marcy said and made her way back down the hall. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"'Night…", Zack said, biting his lip nervously. "Are you going to have sex with Mr. Nigel-Murray?"

"What?" Marcy whirled on Zack.

"Are you and Mr. Nigel-Murray going to have sex?"

"What kind of question is that?" Marcy hissed, embarrassment reddening her cheeks.

"A perfectly rational one", Zack said, furrowing his brow. "You have been seeing each other and it is clear he is attracted to you."

Marcy started to grow angry. "We're not animals, Zack. I don't have sex with someone just because I find his feathers bright."

"I don't understand your metaphor."

"It's drawn from peacocks", Marcy said, frustrated.

"Ah, I see", Zack said, trying to reconcile the situation. "I apologise if I offended you."

"No, no", Marcy said, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. "That's fine. It's just… not anyone's business."

"Oh", Zack said, unable to hide his disappointment in not being trusted.

Marcy sensed this and relented, "Zack… I am not one of those who can have sex just for sex or even just for fun. For me, there's an emotional attachment that combines the two people when they commit that act. From my experience, I'd rather the next time be with someone I know for sure I'm going to spend the rest of my life with. I've been married, as you know, and I still feel that James is a part of me, unfortunately. I can't help it. I'm very careful with who I allow to… touch me in that way. Does that make sense?"

"I suppose", Zack said cautiously. "I can see why some people would have an emotional reaction to sexual intercourse. I myself have yet to experience that sensation."

"Well… I hope someday that you do, Zack", Marcy said, squeezing his hand. Zack drew in a sharp breath as he felt her warm slender figures wrap around his long, white hand.

"Goodnight", Marcy said and walked away before Zack could ask any more compromising questions.

"Goodnight", Zack said as he gazed at her walking out the door to join Vincent on the street.

MARCY'S HOUSE – THE NEXT MORNING 6:07AM

_Riiiiiing… Riiiiiing… Riiiiiing… Riiiiiing…_

"Ugh", Marcy groaned and threw her arm over her body to snatch her cell phone off her nightstand.

"Hullo…?" Marcy muttered into the Blackberry.

"_Marcy?"_ It was Hodgins' voice. He sounded flustered.

"Hodgins?" Marcy frowned, her eyes still closed. "What the hell?"

"_Sarah Eisenberg. The victim we were examining yesterday?"_

"Yeah…?"

"_Her bones are missing."_

Marcy's puffy eyes drew open. "What?"

0000

_A/N: Yay! Sorry that took so long to post. I had a family tragedy RIGHT after I posted Chapter 5 and it's been consuming my thoughts and time._

_**Cool fact:**__ When my Dad, who's a fire fighter, drove out to help with the World Trade Centres during after September 11__th__, he worked with Kathy Reichs to identify remains! Crazy, huh? It's like my Dad is Booth (but definitely not in love with Kathy, haha)._

_PLEASE REVIEW! That encourages me to write for you! I can SEE YOU when you 'favourite' or 'alert' my story, but don't review. *glares*_


	7. Uriah

_A/N: Thanks for the reviews, favourite, etc! Apparently this fanfic is going to be featured on BringBackZack(dot)com. Brilliant, no?_

_**And for those of you who saw last week's episode, "The Hole in the Heart" (no spoilers)…. let's just say we're going to pretend that DIDN'T happen. On with the show!_

_Disclaimer: I don't own "Bones" or Zack Addy, but I do own Marceline Bailey. _

0000

**Chapter 7: Uriah**

Marcy leapt into her little Toyota Corolla and dashed off to the Institution. Upon hearing about the missing bones of Sarah Eisenberg, her first though went to Zack, though she wished it had not. Yet what else was she to think? It could be no coincidence that after Zack's first day back a whole skeleton—the one he was working on— goes missing. As she drove, Marcy wrestled with her thoughts trying to see some way around this scenario. Perhaps someone was trying to frame Zack, a jealous intern, perhaps? How could Zack have gotten out of the Institution anyhow? Did _he_ have an apprentice now that Gormogon was gone? Perhaps it all was one big coincidence. After all, there was that rather controversial neo-Nazi demonstration a few days ago and Sarah Eisenberg came from a Jewish home.

"Please, oh please, God", Marcy begged as she pulled up to the Institution and looked up helplessly at the entrance.

It dawned on her that part of the reason she did not want Zack to be the culprit was because she was afraid she might never see him again. The realisation made her heart flutter as she recounted his rare, wide smile and the way his dark hair duck-tailed on his neck. Immediately she set her jaw and shook those thoughts from her head. She would not allow even the slightest inkling towards romanticising the situation. Marcy could not live through another James…

Drawing in a determined breath, Marcy got out of the car and stomped up the stone steps into the Institution. The guard at the front desk handed her the two ankle monitors and escorted her down the hall where Zack was waiting for her. Before she stepped into the room, Marcy took a moment to observe his body language. Zack was hunching slightly and staring lazily at a corner. His mouth stretched into an early morning yawn as he ran his gloved hand through his thick, moppish hair. He did not seem nervous or aware of any dire situation at all.

_Riiiiiing… Riiiiiing…_

Marcy ripped her Blackberry from her coat pocket. It was Hodgins again.

"Hullo?" Marcy snapped her head away from the window.

"_Hey!"_ Hodgins' voice sounded relieved. _"We found Sarah Eisenberg."_

"Good God! Where is she?"

"_She was thrown into the Holocaust Exhibit among all the old suitcases that the Jewish prisoners brought to the death camps."_

"Holy Moses…"

"_Yeah, Protz is pissed his exhibit is ruined"_, Hodgins said. _"But that's not even the worst part. Someone tagged the glass with spray paint with the words 'Finish the job.'"_

"Is this some kind of sick joke?" Marcy snarled.

"_I hope so, actually. But hang up and get Zack's lily-white ass over here. We need him."_

"On our way!"

With that, Marcy threw her arms up in the air and shrieked, "YES!"

Zack snapped his head up from inside the visiting room and cocked his head to the side as he watched Marcy attempt some wild dance in the hallway. As he watched her slender limbs be thrown about in odd angles, he felt a very distinct lump in his chest. It was not a heavy sort of lump; it felt more like a mass of energy pressing against his chest striving to shoot out.

_What is wrong with me?_ Zack gingerly pressed his hands to his chest, literally trying to discern the source of this tremendous feeling. As his eyes flitted up to Marcy again, the energy surged, almost painfully. A possessiveness towards her overtook his senses and he felt an insane urge to grab Marcy and hold her to himself. He shook his head, brown hair flopping back and forth, to pull himself together. Zack knew he found Marcy attractive and had felt the beginnings of some sense of anxiety for her attention, yet he did not expect to take this huge leap merely from the sight of her making a fool of herself.

To make matters worse, Marcy threw open the door and flung her arms around Zack for the first time in their five-month acquaintance. Her little arms could barely wrap around his broad shoulders as he stiffened, hands held in mid-air, almost in shock. He felt as if the lump of energy in his chest was going to send him into cardiac arrest. _What in Ptolemy's universe is this feeling?_ Zack delicately allowed his arms to rest on her back, his fingers contacting her long, wavy hair. And if Marcy were paying attention, she would have felt Zack's chin begin to rest on the top of her head before she pulled away.

Then Zack blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

"I ate Lucky Charms this morning", he said. "They were quite delicious, though I do not believe magically so. Perhaps it is the pleasing sensation a combination of high amounts of sodium and Omega-6 fatty acids create on the taste buds of a carbon-based life form that people mistakenly label as a 'magical' one-"

"Zack", Marcy stopped him. "I'm sorry for getting carried away, but something _wonderful_ has happened! Well, not wonderful exactly. It's actually quite morbid, but at the same time beautiful!"

"'Morbid' and 'beautiful' are usually contradictory adjectives", Zack said.

"Oh, just come on!" Marcy said as she tossed him his ankle monitor. "We've got to get to the Jeffersonian!"

JEFFERSONIAN – JEWISH HOLOCAUST EXHIBIT

It was a chilling sight. The fresh bones were strewn carelessly over the old suitcases and handbags that once belonged to thousands of European Jews in the 1930s. The crudely written "Finish the job" dripped eerily like red blood. It was obvious the culprit had no regard for ceremony nor did he or she display any artistic ability—it was an act of passion. Brennan, Booth, Hodgins, Zack, Angela, Sweets, Protz, and Marcy all stood by puzzled by the display before them.

What made the case even more complicated was that Sarah Eisenberg's killer and who ever threw her bones over the exhibit were not the same person.

"This is insulting", Protz hissed, hardly able to look at the scene. "All of our work completely desecrated! Who would do such a thing?"

"Someone who apparently has no fingers", an FBI analyst said and spoke to Booth. "Not a single fingerprint, sir."

"So, who exactly killed Sarah Eisenberg and why isn't he a suspect?" Hodgins asked as he combed the area for particulates, which was difficult since the suitcases carried their own 70-year old dirt.

"Tray Mortenson", Booth said, flipping a mug shot of a young man in front of everyone. "He was caught on camera and admitted to shooting Miss Eisenberg—turns out it was just a random burglary gone wrong. But the man was already detained during the time her bones were removed, so… we've got another reason to go visit Herbert Barnes and his little Hitler freaks again."

"Oh, Hitler has no direct descendants, Booth", Brennan corrected as she scanned over the scene. "They can't be related."

"Joke, Bones", Booth said.

"Oooh", Brennan nodded. "That's funny! You're saying that because they all share the same philosophical convictions as Adolph Hitler that they are like miniature versions of him."

"Right", Booth said out the side of his mouth.

"Haha!" Brennan guffawed. "That totally makes sense because 'Christian' in Greek means 'little Christ', so in a sense the neo-Nazi members could be called 'Hilterians'. Heh heh heh, that's very clever, Booth!"

"Alright, Bones, please don't compare Nazis with Christians", Booth said as he lead Brennan away from the scene. "That might offend some people. Like me."

The rest of the team continued to stare baffled with mixed emotions over Sarah Eisenberg's remains. Cam trotted up to her employees.

"Hey guys", she said. "I hate to tear you away, but since Sarah isn't moving this time, I need you back at the lab. We've got a fresh body in there."

"Are there bugs and slime?" Hodgins asked.

"Much", Cam smiled.

"Good. Miss Eisenberg's lack of was starting to depress me."

JEFFERSONIAN LAB – CENTRE PLATFORM

Vincent Nigel-Murray was bent over a rather juicy corpse when the rest of the team gathered around.

"Caucasian male", he said. "Anywhere from 15 to 17 years of age."

What was peculiar about this one was the fact that there were roller skates attached to his feet. Vincent could not help himself.

"Did you know that the first roller skate was recorded in 1760 by a Belgian inventor?" Vincent said as he scanned the body. "Yet the first patent wasn't taken out on them until 1819. You snooze, you loose, Mr. Belgian Inventor Man."

"How do you know it was a man?" Angela asked wryly as she watched their progress.

"Ah!" Vincent said when he spotted Marcy. "Something much more easy on the eyes. Hullo, Daffodil!"

Marcy pushed her glasses up as she smiled back at him over the corpse and Vincent rounded the table to give her a peck on her crimson cheek. Zack felt his face burn, the ball of energy within him seeming to rise in temperature.

"Come, Dr. Bailey, I will not need to see the corpse until Cam is finished with it", Zack lied. _What am I doing?_

"But, Zack", Marcy said. "You always stick around for this. Your additional analysis has proven extremely valuable."

"Well, I feel it is unnecessary in this case", Zack said, growing flustered.

"Why this one?" Marcy asked.

"Because there's nothing I can assess here", Zack said angrily. "I feel I could be off more use elsewhere in the mean time."

"Zack, why are you upset?"

"Why are you making things more difficult than they need be?"

Everyone froze for a moment. Vincent, Cam, Hodgins, and Angela's eyes had been bouncing back and forth between the two, while Sweets had stayed focused on Zack. He could not believe what was happening—Zack's jealousy of Vincent was manifesting right here in Zack's own comfort zone, the lab, his work place. Sweets decided to remain aloof and allow this seed to germinate for a while. And when it came down to it, this was still Marcy's assignment.

Vincent, ever the non-confrontational one, piped up first, "A moment, if I may?" He indicated to Marcy that he needed to speak to her privately.

Cam, who was still frowning curiously at Zack, nodded, "Yeah, don't take too long. Oh, and don't step too far away!"

As Vincent and Marcy, who threw Zack a long look, walked away, Cam kept her peripheral on Zack. The young forensic anthropologist was coming down from his uncharacteristic outburst and now reddening from the embarrassment of the several pairs of eyes on him.

"I apologise, Dr. Saroyan", he said without looking at her. "Hodgins, Angela, Dr. Sweets. I did not mean to… allow my emotions to get the best of me."

"Zack", Cam said, still combing the corpse. "Why did your parents give you the name 'Uriah'?"

"I'm not sure", Zack said, furrowing his brow. "Why do you ask?"

"I just think it's an interesting name", Cam said. "Are you aware of its history?"

"No", Zack said. "I know it is an old Hebrew name. I always figure my mother chose it at random from her Bible. She's a devout Lutheran."

"Well", Cam said. "I find it interesting because in the Bible, Uriah was the husband of Bathsheba. You remember Bathsheba?"

Zack stared long and hard in Marcy and Vincent's direction. "The woman that King David fell in love with when we saw her bathing... David sent Uriah to the front lines so he would be killed and then David would have free access to Bathsheba's favours."

"That's right!" Cam said as if Zack had reminded her of something she forgot. Hodgins, Angela, and Sweets continued to watch this exchange. Even Sweets was unsure of why Cam was bringing this up.

Zack continued to stare at Marcy and Vincent and mumbled, "That's highly intriguing."

Sweets eyed Cam in a reprimanding manner, wondering why she was stirring Zack's emotions with this touchy analogy. Was she suggesting that Zack was somehow Uriah, Marcy Bathsheba, and Vincent King David? It all seemed a little absurd and overdramatic. Sweets shook his head and walked out of the lab, planning to call Cam later. Hodgins merely smirked, admiring Cam's devious little seed she planted in Zack's vulnerable head.

JEFFERSONIAN LAB – LATER THAT DAY

The day went by more smoothly than how it started. Within a few hours, the Jeffersonian team was able to conclude that the victim, identified as Jeffery Dixon, was killed by running into something that smacked both his head and legs at the same time. Finding out what exactly this structure was, according to Hodgins, Zack, and Vincent, required an experiment.

While the bones were being debrided, the boys gathered together every possible weapon they could think of that matched the wounds and bruising on the victim's skulls and legs.

They constructed a dummy the same size and weight as Jeffery Dixon and situated it on a dolly of sorts. Two horizontal poles stuck out the side so two people could grab one on either side and run with it.

Vincent and Zack stood towards the end of the lab, the dummy positioned between them. Hodgins stood at the end with a speed sensor and other equipment. Marcy remained near the various structures the three men had built that were possible matches for what killed Jeffery Dixon.

"You two ready?" Hodgins called to Vincent and Zack.

"Aye, aye, Captain!" Vincent hollered back merrily and gripped a pole, assuming the position of a sprinter.

Zack grabbed the other pole, still unable to carry a civil conversation with Vincent. The latter looked over at Zack, grinning mischievously and was about to open his mouth to say something when Zack took off, Vincent yelping at he was yanked forward. The Brit's gangly legs quickly regained their footing and the two were sprinting as hard as they could in unison until...

_WHAM!_

The dummy smacked into the structure, knocking Zack and Vincent backwards onto the floor. Hodgins and Marcy scrambled to help them and they surveyed the results.

"Too slow", Zack said matter-of-factly. "At this speed, the victim's skull would not have shattered the way it did no matter what it hit."

"Blast", Vincent said, wrinkling his nose at the dummy. "I thought for sure that would've knocked the midi-chlorians out of this guy."

"Midi-chlorians are fictitious organisms", Zack said, frowning. "And a blow like this might have killed him, but it wouldn't have been consistent with the severe damage to our victim's skull."

"Meaning he was definitely hit by someone", Hodgins said.

"While in motion", Vincent added.

"Ahhhhh", he and Hodgins said together.

Just then, Brennan walked up to the group, surveying the mess. "What's going on here?"

The boys explained to her and she nodded, impressed. "Excellent work, gentlemen. At least now we know for sure it was a murder. Hey Zack, I'm going to have to ask that you piece Jeffery Dixon's skull back together tonight and make an impression of his injuries. You won't mind?"

"Not at all, Dr. Brennan!" Zack said, beaming at the opportunity.

"Piece that skull back together?" Marcy said, remembering the almost confetti-like state it was in. "That could take all night."

"Yes, I know", Brennan said, frowning. "Is there a problem?"

"That means I have to stay here all night", Marcy said, pointing at her ever-blinking ankle monitor.

"Oh, well…" Brennan searched for a response. "I guess you could sleep on my or Angela's couch. They're quite comfortable."

"We spent Christmas here once", Hodgins droned as he made little pencil marks on the dummy. "Just like home."

"Anyway", Brennan continued. "I'm the only other person who can piece that skull back together properly and I have to go on an assignment with Booth tonight."

"Oooo, what kind of 'assignment'?" Hodgins asked, grinning.

"We're attending one of Herbert Barnes' meetings", she said flatly.

"Herbert Barnes, the leader of that neo-Nazi group?" Marcy furrowed her brow. "Is this about what happened to Sarah Eisenberg's bones?"

"Yes", Brennan said. "And to find out if he has any connection with her death."

"I thought they were unrelated", Zack said looking up from the dummy.

"Turns out Tray Mortenson was paid to kill Miss Eisenberg", Brennan said, raising her eyebrows slightly.

Vincent whistled, "Look what a nasty little twisted pretzel this turned out to be."

"German bakery items have very little to do with the case, Mr. Nigel-Murray", Brennan said. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

With that, Brennan trotted off towards the exit, leaving the team to mentally chew on what they had just heard. Was it possible that this tiny little neo-Nazi group was proving to be a real threat? They had existed for decades and never really done much harm up until now.

JEFFERSONIAN – BONE STORAGE ROOM - MUCH LATER

Zack got to work almost right away on the skull, but he was still less than halfway finished by the time midnight struck. Marcy felt odd about falling asleep in a place full of corpses and bones, so she mingled around Zack for a while. The Jeffersonian was eerily quiet and still. It seemed to double in size without the dozens of scientists scurrying about the place. The two remained chiefly in the bone storage room, Marcy's nose stuck in a book about King George VI and Zack's in Jeffery Dixon's skull.

Every once and a while, Marcy would look up from her book to watch Zack's progress. It was amazing what he could see that she could not. It fascinated her how trained his deep brown eyes were as they scanned over the thousands of bone fragments and slowly complied this seemingly impossible puzzle. His long white fingers showed their immense dexterity, bringing to Marcy's mind images of those fingers laced around her waist, her hand, her throat…

"What were you talking about?" Zack asked without looking away from the skull.

"What?" Marcy snapped out of her reverie, reddening.

"You and Mr. Nigel-Murray", he said. "What did you step away to talk about earlier today?"

"Oh, it's not important", Marcy said, staring at the back of Zack's chestnut mop of hair.

"Important enough to step away from us", Zack said slowly.

"He was just worried about me, that's all."

"Worried?" Zack looked over his shoulder slightly. "Worried about what?"

"It's not important."

"About me?"

"No! Not at all", Marcy said, pressing her eyebrows together. "Why would we be worried about you?"

Zack turned back to the skull, striving to hide his face. That burning ball of energy sensation in his chest was returning. "I know… I was perceived as rather impatient this morning."

Marcy looked at him curiously through her round glasses. "Oh?"

"I'm sorry."

Marcy's long, dark eyebrows lifted, "I forgive you."

Zack's shoulders seemed to relax at the words and he allowed himself a smile, although that annoying ball of energy surged a thousand times stronger than it had before. He struggled to keep from turning around to glance at Marcy's sweet face. The desire to hold her close returned, causing him to drop one of the skull fragments and scramble to pick it up.

Marcy noticed none of this and yawned to herself, feeling the day's events wear on her.

"You can sleep in Brennan's office", Zack said, hearing her yawn.

Marcy bit her lip. "This will sound silly, but I feel a little uncomfortable falling asleep amongst a bunch of… bones. Perhaps I'll get used to it later if these all-nighters continue, but I guess I'm a bit green for now."

"Actually, I would say you have a rather clear olive complexion common in descendants of people from the Mediterranean", Zack said quite truthfully, causing Marcy to smile and look away for a moment.

"Wow, you're good", Marcy said.

"I know", Zack replied. "You could sleep in here if you wish. I will be in here for at least another four hours at the most."

"I think I'll take you up on that offer", Marcy said.

Within a few minutes, Zack had pulled a few cushions from Brennan's couch and laid them together next to the feet of Zack's stool against the viewing table. He completed it with a sheet, pillow, and a warm blanket. Marcy kicked off her shoes, took off her "squintern" lab coat, and slipped off her glasses as she wriggled under the covers, curling up into a ball.

"Goodnight", she said, looking up at Zack who was perched on his stool.

He looked down at her and replied, "Good morning, actually."

"Good morning, Zack", she chuckled and burrowed under the covers.

The night waned on and Zack stayed focused on the task at hand. Once and a while he make himself a new cup of coffee, use the restroom, or steal a glance at the woman sleeping below him. She hardly made a sound as she slept, her black eyelashes sweeping across her eyelids like delicate brush strokes and her dark hair strewn across the pillow. Only a few times she would toss, obviously growing uncomfortable on the lab floor.

Eventually, when Zack could tell she was truly asleep, he bent down and gingerly worked his arms under her body to scoop her up to his chest. She was about as light as he expected her to be, so he was not sure why he was so surprised at how well the curvature of her little body fit into his long arms. Zack stood up slowly, Marcy's head unconsciously resting against his shoulder. Instinctually, she burrowed her face further into his shoulder area, causing Zack to gasp and break out into a sweat. He started walking hurriedly, anxious to get this creature out of his arms before he did something rash. He carried her to Angela's office where there were very few bones, but a lot of pleasant artwork. He discerned that she would rather wake up in this atmosphere rather than Brennan's office.

Carefully, Zack set her down onto Angela's couch and situated the blanket over her. He cradled her head for a moment to insert a pillow underneath it. At this, Marcy muttered and her eyes flickered open. Zack's heart almost leapt to his throat and he prepared to spring away until Marcy grabbed his large white hand and squeezed. He sat shocked until he realise she had snatched his hand while still in a state of unconsciousness. Zack admitted to himself, he was slightly disappointed, but savoured the moment nonetheless. He reached out and stroked her long hair, drawing a few tresses away from her slender throat.

Getting a hold of himself, Zack shook his head and stood up to walk back to the bone storage room, resisting the urge to steal one last glance at Marcy's sleeping form.

JEFFERSONIAN - THE NEXT MORNING

Zack's digital watch began beeping obnoxiously at 6:00am, to which the young forensic anthropologist moaned helplessly and slapped. He had fallen asleep with his head on the viewing table. Jeffery Dixon's skull was completed.

Zack shuffled to his feet dizzily and ran his fingers through his "bed" hair (the front sticking almost completely up from having his forehead on the table).

In a few minutes, he was bearing two cups of coffee towards Angela's room when he stopped dead.

On Angela's glass walls over the area where Marcy was sleeping was spray-painted in red: "Finish the job."

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_A/N: That took SO LONG. I apologise! I'm in the middle of graduating college right now, so my life has been HECTIC. I'll be posting much faster soon._

_**PLEASE REVIEW and tell me what you think!**__ That's very much appreciated!_


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